Echoes of Silence (Temporary Hiatus)
by Canimal
Summary: Neither Voldemort nor Harry survived the final battle. A still corrupt Ministry responded by throwing all combatants in Azkaban regardless of side. Five years later, a sinister plan created by Minister Umbridge will further disrupt the lives of Order members and Death Eaters alike. Hermione is not amused. Antonin Dolohov doesn't have much to complain about. Dark Marriage Law-ish
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** ** _:_** Unfortunately, I own nothing and can claim nothing from the Harry Potter Universe. All characters still belong to JK Rowling.

 **Important – Please Read**

 **This is going to be a Dark story. It is rated M for a very valid reason. This story is written for mature audiences only. If you are not an adult, please do not continue.**

 **There will not be chapter trigger warnings on this story to protect the surprise and spontaneity of the story.** _ **Potential warnings**_ _ **may**_ _ **include death, murder, violence, domestic violence, dub-con, mention of non-con, loss of pregnancy, and drug/alcohol abuse.**_

 **I cannot and will not promise a happy ending.**

 **Chapters will be much shorter than what my regular readers have come to expect. There is also not a set update schedule for this story.**

* * *

 _ **Special thanks to the amazing Freya Ishtar. The first two chapter outlines of this story have been sitting in a notebook of mine for over a year and a half since I was writing**_ **The Silver Mage's Captive** _ **. Her encouragement has been invaluable as I've knocked the dust off of this plot bunny.**_

* * *

Chapter One

Acrid smoke still lingered over the Hogwarts grounds when the Ministry arrived. Shouts of terror, disbelief and sheer grief echoed through the corridors of the ancient castle as the bodies of both Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter crumpled to the stone floor of the Great Hall. Those left standing did not know what to do next. Who was the victor? Shocked Death Eaters and Order Members alike simply stared at their fallen leaders with fear of what was to come next. There was no time for another leader to rise up to rally either side to a more decisive victory. No time to avenge the deaths of the Dark Lord or the Chosen One.

The still-corrupt Ministry did not discriminate between the fighters marked with the skull and serpent on their left forearms and the students caught up in the battle. While the combatants stared at their comrades silently willing them to make a decision, seasoned Aurors and other members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement swiftly took down all fighters regardless of what side they had been battling. Everything happened so quickly that resistance was almost non-existent.

Azkaban's damp cells were full the night of May 2nd of a rather motley assortment of prisoners. Only the individual spaces prevented the resumption of the lost battle as Death Eaters were mixed in with Order members, the foolish children of Dumbledore's Army and innocent students caught in the crossfire.

* * *

 _May 8, 1998_

 _ **Hogwarts Professors Cleared of All Charges**_

 _The_ Daily Prophet _is pleased to report that following the recent unpleasantness at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy, the respected professors and staff members of the school have been released from Azkaban and cleared of all charges. As a security precaution, the brave witches and wizards employed by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement arrested everyone present at the battle until further investigations could be made. Officials determined that with the exception of certain members of staff marked by You-Know-Who, they were only executing their solemn duties to protect the castle and their students within from violent invaders._

 _Minerva McGonagall, former Deputy Headmistress, has been appointed Headmistress. An exclusive interview with the exhausted professor as she returned to the damaged castle was…_

* * *

 _May 12, 1998_

 _ **Students Released from Azkaban; Parents Overjoyed**_

 _More combatants of what is now being referred to as the Battle for Hogwarts have been released and cleared of all charges. A number of students of the esteemed institution of learning were allowed to leave Azkaban late yesterday night and return to their homes much to the relief of their concerned and worried parents. The DMLE determined that the vast majority of the fighters attending Hogwarts at the time of the battle did so under duress and out of fear for their own safety._

 _Only known members of the rebel organization known as_ Dumbledore's Army _are still locked up Azkaban awaiting trial. Fortunately, the Ministry had access to a charmed parchment from the school listing all students involved in the highly illegal student…_

* * *

 _June 3, 1998_

 _ **Hermione Granger, Leader of Dumbledore's Army, Sentenced to Life in Azkaban**_

 _The trial of known rebel leader Hermione Granger was over almost as soon as it began yesterday morning. Convicted of all charges by the full might of the Wizengamot, the late Harry Potter's best friend and suspected lover, will be living out the remainder of her natural life within the walls of Azkaban Prison. Deliberation only took five minutes before she was convicted. Trials of the other foolish members of the illegal student organization will begin later this month._

 _Due to the clearly untrustworthy nature of the creatures, all dementors have been removed from the island housing the prison fortress. Miss Granger will be transported there immediately. An appeal was immediately denied. The convicted has proven herself dangerous time and…_

* * *

 _June 10, 1998_

 _ **All Captured Death Eaters Convicted and Sentenced**_

 _A large number of Death Eaters, followers of You-Know-Who, were convicted of all charges brought forth by the Wizengamot. All were sentenced to spend the rest of their natural lives in Azkaban. Turn to page 7 for a full list of the prison's newest permanent residents._

* * *

 _June 20, 1998_

 _ **Dumbledore's Army Sentenced to Life in Prison**_

 _All known members of the illegal student organization known as Dumbledore's Army will be joining their disgraced leader Hermione Granger in Azkaban. Trials were swift. Evidence was clear and…_

* * *

 _April 9, 2003_

 _ **Dolores Umbridge Named Minister for Magic**_

 _The Daily Prophet is pleased to announce that the respected Senior Undersecretary to the former Minister for Magic has been appointed…_

* * *

The chilly air blowing off of the North Sea into Hermione's prison cell woke her up just as it had every day for five years. Though the dementors were long gone from the island, the pervasive damp and chill made the unlucky prisoners doomed to spend the rest of their lives in a six by eight feet cell constantly cold. She couldn't remember the last time she felt truly warm. Long before the day her best friend died and her entire world went to shit certainly. What she wouldn't give for just a few minutes of experiencing what it was like to actually feel warm again.

Every day in Azkaban was depressingly like the last. Extreme boredom was the worst of the plagues affecting the prisoners. They weren't allowed anything from the outside world – no books, no newspapers, nothing that might give them even a hint that there were still people living their lives like usual on the mainland. The strange collection of prisoners on her cell block provided a limited amount of entertainment. Old rivalries and homicidal plans were put aside long enough to allow the mixture of Order members, Dumbledore's Army and Death Eaters the opportunity to speak to other humans. One would go mad if they had to stay silent. In five years Hermione had developed not exactly a friendship, but certainly a _friendly_ relationship with the Death Eater next door.

The bars on the sides of her cell started four feet above the ground and went up to the ceiling. She could stand at the bars and see directly into Lucius Malfoy's cell. Privacy was non-existent. It had taken her about a year to warm up to the man whose drawing room floor she once bled on, but once they were both on the same level as hated prisoners, they discovered mutual interests. Talking through the bars prevented her from losing hold of her mind. It was her greatest fear. Sometimes Hannah Abbott on her other side would stand at her bars to listen. Rarely did she have anything to add. Prison changed them all. The bubbly, friendly Hufflepuff was not the same girl Hermione remembered from school.

Sounds of snoring coming from Lucius' cell and silence from Hannah's told Hermione she was probably the first one awake. Sleeping all day was how many of the lifetime residents chose to cope with their circumstances. Across the narrow corridor and two cells over to the right was Walden Macnair's permanent home. A terrifying and brutal man outside the prison walls, inside he never spoke. Never engaged in the heated discussions that popped up around him. Rarely did anyone ever see him awake. His next door neighbor Thorfinn Rowle would throw handfuls of water on him every few days just to make sure he hadn't expired in the night. Hermione couldn't blame the defeated wizard for preferring his dreamworld to reality.

Hermione stretched her stiff limbs before climbing off of the thin mattress tucked in the corner of her cell. Lying still with only a thin blanket with holes covering her body would do nothing to keep her from freezing to death. She thought it was spring based on what little she could see out her tiny prison window. Not that the season seemed to matter. The chill never went away. Carefully, she rose from the floor. With her arms raised high above her head, she began her daily morning routine of stretching her entire body. It got the blood flowing in her tired body and helped to kill at least half an hour of never-ending time.

She was in the middle of stretching her tense back when she saw her directly across-the-corridor neighbor staring at her actions. Rolling her eyes and pretending she didn't see Antonin Dolohov staring, Hermione never once stopped her routine. Just as she had come to expect that her bones would be chilled, she had come to expect that a large part of her day would be spent with the Death Eater who marred her body in the Department of Mysteries watching her every movement. Not that either of them had much choice. Their cells looked directly into the other's.

"Good morning, _megera_ ," Antonin said with a smirk on his lips.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but did not respond at first. It did not matter how many times she asked him to stop, the Russian wizard continued to call her the ridiculous name. After a year of mutual imprisonment, he finally explained that the word meant he was calling her a shrew. He always said it with a smirk on his face. She certainly did not appreciate him accusing her of being a quarrelsome woman. Of course, when she would start to argue about it, she could see how he reached his conclusion. Usually she just preferred that he not speak to her at all.

"I imagine it would be impossible to go a single morning without you feeling the need to speak to me, wouldn't it?" she snapped.

"But I do so enjoy our talks," Dolohov replied, completely undeterred by her tone. One would do almost anything to keep sane in the tedium of prison. The Russian Death Eater liked to aggravate Hermione for fun. "And I love the way your cheeks flush red when I make you mad."

"Fuck off, Dolohov."

A loud groan from the cell next to hers startled Hermione into silence before she got much further in her familiar tirade.

"What I would not _give_ for the two of you to just be able to shag," Lucius declared. "Maybe then you two would stop arguing through the sexual tension and the rest of us could finally have a lie in."

"Hear hear!" sounded through the cellblock.

Hermione could pick out the familiar voices of Hannah, Rowle, and Ginny Weasley on the other side of Lucius. She could have also sworn that she heard the little used voice belonging to Walden Macnair joining in the chorus. Instead of being annoyed right along with her, Dolohov simply laughed.

"Now how does that sound?" he asked, giving her a cheeky wink as he spoke.

"Like I'd rather be boiled alive in hot tar."

Arguments with Dolohov broke up the monotony of her day. She would never admit that she _enjoyed_ them, but at least they helped pass the time. That's all anyone stuck for the rest of their lives in Azkaban could do.

From what she learned from returning residents to the stone fortress, conditions were better than they were before the end of the Second Wizarding War. She had heard horror stories about what living there under the reign of the dementors was like. It was a miracle that anyone ever came out of that place with their mental faculties intact. Though it was better, there still was a lot to be desired. Privacy was a luxury that none of them could afford. Cells faced other cells across the corridor. In five years she had seen Dolohov in his most intimate moments just as he had seen her in hers. His personal favorite seemed to be watching her take her weekly cold sponge baths.

Before they could get started on a truly entertaining row, the main door to the isolated cellblock swung open to admit one of the guards. As they were stuck in there until they were dead, the other humans on the island did not care much about their well-being. House-elves delivered their meager meals and their small ration of freezing sea water for their baths. It was rare to get a visit from someone outside.

The wizard entering the cellblock looked as if he would rather be just about anywhere else in the world. Hermione did not recognize him as one she had seen before. He looked young enough to still be at Hogwarts. Thoughts of her beloved school were best tucked in the back of her mind. She did not like to be reminded too often of what she had lost. It was too hard to go back to living where she did if she was plagued with memories of a roaring fire in her Common Room or the smell of the books in the library.

"What is this?" Thorfinn demanded of the wizard when he thrust a piece of parchment through his prison bars.

His question was not answered. The guard pretended as if he did not even exist. Simply walked on to the next cell and the next, slipping in identical sheets of parchment to the incarcerated. Hermione was one of the last to get her copy. Watching the other prisoners staring down at theirs made her extremely jealous. When was the last time she felt the texture of fresh parchment between her fingers? Smelled the dried ink?

She was not gentle when she pulled her copy out of the wizard's hand. Her eyes struggled to focus on the print in the dimness of the prison. When her eyes finally adjusted, she read of a Ministry sponsored program open to all current Azkaban prisoners sentenced to life. The first sentence was written in bright ink with large letters to catch her eye.

 _ **Would you like to be released early from Azkaban?**_

Considering she was supposed to _die_ in prison, yes, she was quite interested. The parchment seemed too good to be true. Not only would she be eligible for early release if she was selected, but she would get to move out of the cell. Promises of a small house, good food, access to top medical care and permission to borrow anything they wished from the Ministry's extensive library rounded out the options. Inmates were asked to make a decision to volunteer.

Conversations up and down the cellblock proved that everyone was curious about the program. Anything to change their lives had to have been better than what they were already experiencing to some. Hermione wasn't so sure. It made her nervous to agree to the Ministry's plans without more details. Hadn't they already proved they were not worthy to be trusted?

"What about you, _megera_? You interested?"

"Aren't you all just a little bit suspicious that this sounds too good to be true?"

More than one person on the cellblock replied that for even a _chance_ at release, they would do just about anything. Hermione was hesitant to volunteer even as every other prisoner signed their name to the contract the frightened guard brought back in.

"Come on, Granger," Dolohov teased. "You're not fooling anyone. Access to a library? I haven't seen you so turned on in five years just thinking about all of those books."

His smirk was a challenge. Despite her misgivings about agreeing to volunteer for something she was completely ignorant about, Hermione gave up and signed her name under everyone else's.

* * *

 _May 20, 2003_

 _ **Has the Minister for Magic Discovered the Solution for the Declining Birth Rates?**_

 _Minister Umbridge unveiled a highly controversial plan yesterday to combat the decline of magical births in the country. As the_ Daily Prophet _has previously reported in earlier editions, studies have been conducted to uncover why so few magical babies are being born. While the research is ongoing, the Minister has a plan to start boosting the population immediately._

 _It is no secret that after the tragic events of five years ago, there are a large number of powerful witches and wizards locked up in Azkaban. The Minister proposed a breeding program for the inmates, including those serving a life sentence, in an effort to provide magical babies available for adoption by Ministry-approved parents. Participants will be matched up with a partner determined by extensive testing to be the most biologically and magically compatible._

 _Participants in the program will be moved to secure location on a nearby…_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Holy crap! I cannot believe the attention this story has already gotten. You, my special, wonderful readers are freaking amazing! Thank you for all of your amazing reviews and for favoriting and following this story. Seriously didn't think anyone would be interested in a Dark Marriage Law-ish story. Guess you all proved me wrong!**_

 _ **This was one of those days when I received a number of uncalled for and unasked for criticisms and downright insults from strangers that made me even wonder why I was still writing. Going back over all of the amazing reviews for Chapter One in this story reminded me why I continue to share. Thank you!**_

 _ **Also, this chapter is likely to be longer than the average. Please don't expect them to always be this long! There's just a lot going on in this chapter. Shorter chapters usually mean faster updates.**_

* * *

Chapter Two

 _May 25, 2003_

 _ **Controversial Breeding Program Approved; Azkaban Inmates to Undergo Testing**_

 _Despite a number of outspoken critics of Minister Umbridge's new plan to institute breeding amongst the inmates serving a lifetime sentence in Azkaban, the program has been formally approved by the Wizengamot. One hundred percent of the inmates incarcerated for the remainder of their natural lives signed up to be a willing participant. A large percentage of the inmates are likely to be approved and an ideal biological match found for them, but for those unfortunate inmates who do not qualify under the stringent guidelines set forth under the program, they will be remanded back to their cells to serve the remainder of their sentences. When asked about the possibility that not all inmates would qualify, Minister Umbridge…_

* * *

It only took Hermione about five minutes to grow weary of the poking and prodding that came with the examination in her cell. Without warning early that morning, a team of Healers were escorted into their cellblock by annoyed aurors. Any change in routine was welcome to the inmates. They had had years of days passing where one was exactly like the previous. Even Walden Macnair stirred from his thin bed to see what the fuss was about.

The Healers moved to Hermione's side of the cellblock first. She could hear the sound of the door opening in Hannah's cell. A quick glance across the narrow corridor showed a worried Thorfinn Rowle standing at his bars watching every single movement within. Hannah assured him with a warm smile and a soft word that she was all right. Not satisfied, Rowle did not move an inch.

Hermione didn't have time to worry about what was happening next door before she had her own Healer entering her cell. No explanation was given for their presence on the cellblock. It was so strange to actually see other people inside the space she'd been forced to call home for five years.

"What are you doing?" she asked the moment the Healer pointed his wand at her and began muttering under his breath. "We've never been given an exam before. What's happening?"

Neither the Healer nor the auror assigned to guard him from the dangerous criminal made any effort to put her fears at ease. They did not even seem to notice she was speaking. Hermione couldn't help but be unnerved. No one had touched her since she was dragged from the floor of the courtroom to be thrown inside her cell.

"What are you looking for? Is this something to do with the program we signed up for? Why won't you answer me? Is everyone…"

Finally fed up with her questioning, the auror flicked his wand to silence her mid-sentence. A loud laugh from across the corridor startled her before she could get too angry about her change in circumstances. Dolohov was apparently enjoying the show immensely.

"If I'd had the ability to perform that spell, the past five years could've been almost bearable."

Lucius scoffed from his cell not even caring that he had his own Healer and auror standing with him.

"The only thing keeping you sane, Antonin, are your daily arguments with Hermione."

"Lucius is right, Dolohov. You'd be curled up in the corner sucking your own thumb if you didn't have her," added Hannah.

Hermione laughed silently. She was surprised Hannah was being so bold. There were flashes of time when she was almost the same person she used to be at Hogwarts. To distract herself from the examination she had no control over, Hermione looked up to see Thorfinn Rowle still standing at the bars of his cell smiling at Hannah. She rolled her eyes and looked away. Hannah and Rowle were a frequent topic of conversation and ridicule amongst the other inmates on their cellblock. Hermione even usually joined in the teasing, but only because at times she was so jealous it was hard to see straight.

"You all right over there, Hannah?" asked Rowle.

"I'm fine, Finn. The tests are just a little _uncomfortable_."

Her next door neighbor had to agree. The Healer continued poking her with his wand in various part of her body. Instead of asking her to lift the ratty nightgown that was her only source of clothing, he just pulled it off of her body, leaving her completely naked and exposed. They didn't even have the decency to treat her like a human being. She was nothing more than underfed livestock in the eyes of the Ministry. The purpose of all of the testing wasn't even clear. Hermione was forced to drink a foul potion that made her insides feel like they were coated in ice.

None of the jabs of the wand and the irritating feel of the tingling spells prepared Hermione for the moment the Healer pushed her down on the bed roughly and demanded she spread her legs. Absolutely horrified by the request, she refused. What woman in their right mind would agree? When she clamped her thighs together, the Healer sighed in frustration. Hermione's instinct to struggle took over. The auror was called to hold her in place as the Healer attempted to conduct a rather intrusive gynecological exam.

"Don't struggle with them, Granger."

The clear concern in Dolohov's voice startled Hermione enough to stop struggling. Was the wizard who seemed to enjoy making her miserable for the previous five years actually sympathetic? She clenched her teeth and didn't move until the Healer was finished.

Examining everyone in the cellblock didn't take much longer than an hour. Only as the last of the Healers and their auror bodyguards departed did the auror responsible remove the silencing spell from Hermione. She was able to shout out a few choice insults about the sexual proclivities of his mother before the door to their block slammed shut. More than one of her neighbors was amused by her outburst.

"What a delightfully, filthy mouth you possess, Princess," teased Rowle with a wink.

"Is that how feisty you get _every_ time a wizard slithers between your thighs?"

"Fuck you, Dolohov."

"Remove these bars between us and I'll be glad to."

Hermione glared at the wizard across her cell. If there weren't any bars between them, she felt almost certain she would've strangled him in his sleep. She turned away from the leering pervert to focus on the discussion the rest of the prisoners were having.

Everyone was at a loss as to why they would be given any kind of medical attention to begin with. A Healer had never come close to their cells before. Prisoners were never offered medical care. Not even when they were close to death. Old Man Nott only lasted six months after the final battle before Ginny discovered him dead in his cell. It took four days before anyone came in to remove the body. No, a prisoner's health was not a high priority in Azkaban.

* * *

 _June 3, 2003_

 _ **Azkaban Breeding Program Set to Begin This Week**_

 _Minister Umbridge's plan to help combat the declining birth rate will begin later this week. Sixty-four inmates of Azkaban Prison were selected following a series of tests and exams proving them to be capable of the task of providing magical babies available for adoption. Each participant has been paired up with a partner deemed to be the most compatible…_

* * *

Days passed after the examinations with no answers from the outside. Each of the inmates on Hermione's cellblock had their own theory of the purpose of the unannounced visits. Theories ranged from the absurd to the disturbing and everything in between. All seemed to be of the same opinion that whatever it was, it _had_ to be better than rotting in a prison cell for the rest of their lives.

"Unless we are being taken somewhere to be used as guinea pigs for excruciatingly painful curse experiments," Hermione suggested.

"Why, Princess, you are certainly a right ray of sunshine, aren't you?" retorted Rowle with a laugh.

Hermione rolled her eyes and chose to ignore the nickname Rowle bestowed upon her in another life when she was just a first year at Hogwarts being tormented by a cruel seventh year Slytherin. He had been a little too excited to learn that their cells where within speaking distance years earlier. Much like he had when they were students together for that single year, he seemed to still enjoy taunting her until she grew red in the face and screamed at him. At least as adults it was almost entirely good-natured.

"Don't tell me none of you have considered the possibility that we will be taken somewhere and put in some comfortable home and given lots of good food to eat just so the sick fucks who control the Ministry can perform experiments on us without feeling too guilty about it. We will probably be force-fed horrible potions that will rot our insides, but it's okay because we'll get served pudding every day."

"Oh, give it a rest, 'Mione," ordered Ginny. "Even if I die in excruciating pain testing out new potions, it will be a better way to go than just sitting in this cell waiting for the end to come. I might live a hundred more years stuck in prison. I'd rather die quickly."

Ginny's opinion seemed to be shared by the majority of the other prisoners. Even Hermione had to admit there was a certain appeal to dying in a horrific accident than slowly losing one's mind with boredom and loneliness. It bothered her more than she was willing to admit how much the human touch she'd experienced days earlier during her examination jarred her to her very bones. No one had touched her in _years_. Only her fingertips could slip between the bars separating her cell from Hannah's and Lucius'. Though she had never been what one might consider a touchy-feely person, there was something soothing about human touch. She missed it. Her cold, clinical and intrusive exam hardly qualified. All it did was remind her of what she was missing.

They were all enjoying their daily afternoon naps (there was little else to do each day after all) when the sound of the door out to the main corridor opened loudly. Every single inmate jumped up to their feet, worried what was about to happen. Just as they had on the day they were all examined, no explanation was given for the appearance of the aurors. Every inmate was charmed into heavy chains before the doors to their cells were opened.

The aurors began pulling all of the prisoners out of their cells. Angry with the wizard who grabbed Hannah's arm too roughly, Thorfinn rushed past his own escort to knock his large body into the offensive creature. At least seven or eight inches over six feet tall, Rowle was as intimidating physically as any of the aurors were with their wands. Hannah's auror was knocked to the stone floor with Thorfinn's firm chest. Before he could stomp on the downed man, another auror struck Rowle in the stomach with a stinging hex.

All of the excitement was quickly squashed once Thorfinn was restrained. He might have been willing to knock off the two men holding him back if it wasn't for the pleading expression on Hannah's face and her quiet plea for him to calm down. The Hufflepuff was clearly something a snake charmer. He gave them no more trouble on their march down to the lowest level of the prison.

Hermione felt Lucius brush his arm against hers. She appreciated the gesture. Her anxiety must have been written all over her face as they walked through the corridors none of them had been down in five years. Just feeling his presence next to her helped immensely.

They were led to a large circular stone room on what must have been the lowest level of the entire prison. Dozens of chained up prisoners were already inside. While still keeping close to the other prisoners from her cellblock, Hermione scanned the room for familiar faces she had not seen in years. It only took her a few moments to catch Ron's eye. Her stomach lurched at his tentative grin. While it was good to finally see him again, he looked sickly and different from the boy she remembered. She had to force herself to turn away before she cried.

Lucius was doing that same thing she had been doing. His eyes were wide and he was looking at all of the assembled prisoners. He relaxed slightly when he saw Draco near the entrance. Father and son caught each other's eyes and smiled slightly. Both broke their look at the same time to continue their scan of the room. Hermione had a good idea just who Lucius was looking for.

"I don't see her anywhere," he declared in a petrified whisper. His grey eyes were wide and threatening to overflow. "She's not here."

"I'm sure she's here somewhere, Lucius. Maybe she just hasn't come in yet. Look, more people are coming."

Hermione had to turn away from the worried wizard before she got upset right along with him. Dolohov was standing just slightly in front of her and to the left. His entire face was set in a scowl. Following his line of sight, she saw the cause. A smiling Alecto Carrow stared in his direction. While she had always been an odd-looking woman, one of those creatures who could either look very attractive or very unattractive with little room in between, prison had not exactly agreed with her. She seemed much older than she did only a few years earlier at the end of the war. Her attempt to wave at Dolohov with her hands in heavy chains was unsuccessful.

"Old girlfriend, Dolohov?" Hermione asked. She was finding the situation more amusing than was probably healthy.

Dolohov fixed his glare on a different witch. Though she had been a witness to that same expression countless times in five years, it was different when they were only inches apart. She cleared her throat and resumed her survey of the room. So many familiar faces and yet they were all so very, very different. Kingsley Shacklebolt still stood tall and proud, but there was a hint of defeat in the set of his jaw that only those who knew him best were likely to notice. Everyone looked so awful. Hermione could only imagine that she looked just as dreadful. Only Luna Lovegood seemed the same. A little dirty, perhaps, but still happily chatting to a wizard Hermione was fairly certain was Rodolphus Lestrange. He smiled indulgently at her dreamy friend. Likely they'd been in the same cellblock together and he was used to her.

When the last of the prisoners were pushed into the room by the aurors, the doors slammed shut. It was an ominous sound that did little to settle Hermione's nerves. All of the prisoners within stopped talking at the same time. A break in the inmates near the door revealed a small platform where a familiar toad-faced witch stood with an infuriating smile on her unattractive face. Hermione wished she could strange Dolores Umbridge's thick, pudgy neck with her bare hands.

Umbridge cleared her throat with the same _hem hem_ noise she used to years earlier when she was the most ineffective Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in Hogwarts' long history. The horrid woman tapped her throat with her wand to allow her voice to carry. In the same voice that haunted Hermione's nightmares, she announced to the room that she was their Minister for Magic. Hermione was horrified. What had their society come to if _that_ was the choice for their Minister?

Quickly, she went through what sounded like a prepared speech of what the inmates could expect from the mysterious program they had all volunteered for. Later that day they would be moved to a small, Unplottable island nearby where they would all be issued small two-bedroom cottages which they would share. Regular meals would be provided by a team of Ministry house-elves. They would all have access to the finest Healers that St. Mungo's had as well as access to the vast Ministry library. There would be much fewer limitations on their movement on the secure island. Walks outside were going to be highly encouraged. All in all, it sounded entirely too good to be true. Hermione just knew there had to be some awful catch.

"I am sure you are all very curious about what you will expected to contribute to this program," Umbridge stated. "Well, it's very simple. Because of the rampant violence that has affected our society thanks to the likes of dangerous criminals like each and every one of you gathered here today, we are experiencing a shortage in magical births."

Hermione felt like someone reached into her gut and began squeezing her stomach. She had an awful feeling that no one was going to like what else came out of the toad's mouth.

"You have all been selected to be a part of the Ministry of Magic's Magical Breeding program."

The outrage was palpable. All over the room there were cries and shouts of outrage. Hermione turned her attention to Lucius. His eyes were focused on the floor and he appeared as if he was about to be sick. They once had a discussion why Draco was an only child. It had certainly not been a conscious decision on his or Narcissa's part. His wife had been unable to carry another child to term once Draco was born. Her absence from the room suddenly made sense. Clearly she would not qualify for some sick, demented breeding program. Hermione tried to reach over to pat his hand in some gesture of comfort, but the chains would not allow much movement. When her sleeve brushed against his, he looked into her eyes with a tearful expression. He was a man entirely without hope. There must have been something in Hermione's face to give him the courage to turn towards the Minister.

"I am a married man!" he shouted.

Umbridge simpered when she saw who made the loud declaration. All eyes were either turned on Lucius or on her. Hermione longed to curse the bitch for her reaction. Lucius' love for Narcissa was still quite strong even after five years of not seeing each other. How could he be expected to move into a cottage with some other woman to _breed_ children for the Ministry? It was unconscionable.

"I'm afraid the Ministry does not recognize any marital bonds of prisoners serving life sentences. The moment you crossed the threshold of the prison, Mr. Malfoy, all bonds were broken. You are all property of the Ministry and as such, we have the authority to do with you as we please."

"I will _not_ be a part of this!"

"I am afraid you have no choice, Mr. Malfoy. By signing your name to the parchment that circulated through the prison, you gave your vow that you would agree to the terms of the program. Seeing as this is a breeding program, you have been assigned an appropriate witch. You are not able to leave the program unless you _both_ agree to leave together. If you choose to quit, you and your partner will have no chance at ever being released from Azkaban. Is that truly what you desire, Lucius?"

He sighed in utter defeat at the terms of the agreement. Refusing the program would not only ensure that he would never be released from prison, but it would also prevent some other poor soul from being released too. Hermione knew him well enough to know that Lucius would not be able to live with that on his conscience. He finally had to admit defeat. With her arm pressed up against his, even with the chains she was able to hook her smallest finger with his. They both needed whatever hint of comfort could be provided in that moment.

Satisfied that she had control of the room once more, Umbridge went into a long-winded explanation of what was to be expected from each of the participants in the breeding program. Hermione couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that she would be expected to provide children for the Ministry. What kind of fucked up society had the deaths of Harry and Lord Voldemort created? Just as she explained to a heartbroken Lucius, both partners were only allowed to leave the program if they agreed. Leaving the program meant they would be thrown back in Azkaban to live out the remainder of their days. If one of the partners died before their conditions were met, the survivor would be sent back to Azkaban until a suitable replacement was found. Unless, of course, the dead partner was killed by the surviving partner. It seemed to behoove everyone involved to keep their partners healthy and alive.

Every couple was expected to provide ten healthy children to the Ministry. Once their tenth child reached their first birthday, they would be paroled. Hermione was horrified right along with every other person in the room. Ten children was an insane condition. How could anyone be expected to have that many?

"All participants were chosen for their ability to produce healthy, magically gifted children. Squibs will _not_ be counted in the number if one if produced. Squibs will be left with Muggle authorities."

Umbridge sneered at the word 'squib'. Each time it rolled off her tongue she grimaced like the word actually tasted foul.

"All participants will undergo a strict routine of fertility potions immediately. I advise everyone in this room to not refuse the potions. The sooner you are able to produce children, the sooner you will be allowed to rejoin _polite_ society."

There was an unnatural silence in the crowded room as everyone tried to wrap their minds around their expectations. Hermione did not even want to contemplate the emotional issues that would spring up around being forced to hand over her children to people approved by the Ministry that were likely horrid. That was a problem for another day. She compartmentalized that fear to focus on the most pressing one. Somewhere in that room was a man she was going to be expected to _breed_ with.

She highly doubted the Ministry of Magic would do something as clinical as in-vitro fertilization. Years earlier when she was still in Hogwarts she remembered there being a series of articles that ran in _Witch Weekly_ about the dangers of witches and wizards using Muggle fertility methods to produce magical children. It seemed that an overwhelming number of the children born to the desperate, childless couples were born entirely without magic. There was a belief that only conception through sexual intercourse could actually produce a magical baby. Something about the father passing his magical essence through his sperm at the moment of ejaculation. Truthfully, Hermione was entirely too young to be reading such articles. No, they would be expected to conceive in the old-fashioned way.

Who was she paired up with? Surely they would take into account biological and magical compatibility to pick their couples. It was the only thing that made sense. She was terrified to know who her children's _sire_ would be. What if he was someone awful? Someone she couldn't stand? She hoped and prayed to whatever deity might be listening that she would end up with an Order member at least. Ron wouldn't be bad. They were best friends once upon a time. Even Dean or Anthony or Michael would be okay. She didn't think they would treat her badly. If she ended up with a Death Eater, all bets were off.

"Following the examinations that were conducted, we have been able to determine the best possible matches between participants to ensure the highest probability that success will be had. Mr. Malfoy, seeing as how you were so vocal earlier, we will start with you."

Lucius gulped loud enough that everyone within several feet of him could hear. Hermione did what she could to tighten her grip on his finger. The chains allowed almost no movement.

"Lucius Malfoy, you will be paired with Ginevra Weasley."

His entire body tensed at the announcement that he would be expected to live with, copulate with and produce children with the young witch he almost got killed years earlier in his failed attempt to discredit her father. Lucius' entire body sagged with the news. Hermione caught Ginny's wide, frightened eyes only steps away. Though they had come to a form of a truce living in the cells next to each other for five years, this was another situation entirely.

"There are thirty-two couples selected," Umbridge continued. "Once all the names are read and you are aware of your partner, everyone will be moved to the island. Each couple will share a cottage with another couple. They have all been assigned. Mr. Malfoy, if you and Miss Weasley will step outside the room."

Hermione released her limited hold on Lucius. He could not even look at Ginny as they walked through the gathered crowed. The other inmates were polite enough to part the way for their exit. Once she was satisfied the first couple to be selected was outside, Umbridge continued.

"As I call your name, please step outside of the room. You will both be given a portkey."

She began reading through a list of matched couples. Each name that came up made Hermione's stomach clench in fear. Part of her wondered if Umbridge wasn't deliberately leaving her name for one of the last names as a form of cruel torture. It would make sense.

Luna Lovegood was paired with Rodolphus Lestrange. Hermione would've been worried about her dreamy friend if not for the awed expression on Lestrange's face when he stared in Luna's direction. Somehow she got the feeling that Luna would be all right.

Thorfinn and Hannah were matched together to their great relief. It seemed that even in the midst of an impossible situation, they were going to make the best of it. The blonde couple tried unsuccessfully to hide their pleased grins as they made their way out of the room.

When Walden Macnair's name was paired with Cho Chang's, Hermione was both worried and ashamed of herself. She could not help the overwhelming relief that came over her when she realized she would not be paired up with the wizard who was notorious for his violence towards women. Poor Cho looked sick at the thought that she would be expected to live with the grizzled, frightening wizard. It seemed to take her longer than anyone else to make the long walk out into the corridor.

It was hard to miss the sigh of utter contentment that came out of Dolohov's mouth when Alecto Carrow's name was matched with Ron's. Obviously there was a history between the Death Eaters that he was not keen to repeat. Hermione met Ron's eye as he walked out. He wasn't pleased with the turn of events either. The woman had to have been at least fifteen years older than him. Perhaps the Carrows were known for their fertility. Or perhaps, it was the Weasley genes that would ensure they would be able to produce the requisite number of children.

Soon there were only a few people left in the room. Hermione continued to hope that maybe she would be paired up with someone that didn't make her skin crawl. Lee Jordan would probably be okay. She and George would definitely argue, but they would be able to make it work. As each of them were paired with witches _not_ named Hermione Granger, she began to lose hope.

Her assumption that Umbridge would save her for last turned out to be accurate. The Minister smirked down at Hermione from her elevated position. It wasn't necessary for her to announce out loud the cretin she would be expected to procreate with. He was the only wizard left in the room.

"Finally, Hermione Granger and Antonin Dolohov."

He looked over his shoulder with a smirk. If Hermione had access to her wand, she would not have hesitated to hex his face after his infuriating wink in her direction.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note: Thank you to all of you lovely wonderful people who have taken the time to encourage me with this really unorthodox plot bunny. Never would have guessed it would be received so well. I'm still blown away by so many favorites and follows. Every single review I've gotten on this story has just made me smile like a crazy maniac. Thank you!**_

* * *

Chapter Three

 _June 7, 2003_

 _ **Rita Skeeter's Exclusive Interview With Minister Umbridge About Her Controversial Magical Adoption Program**_

 _Recently I was privileged to be able to sit down for an exclusive interview with our illustrious Minister for Magic, the impressive Dolores Jane Umbridge. We discussed the recent inclusion of the program she had approved through our esteemed Wizengamot to increase the numbers of magical births. A small minority of the country has expressed their concern that such an act was perhaps, not in the best interest of any of the parties involved. Minister Umbridge, however, was quick to assure this reporter that her plan would have long-reaching effects that would only benefit our struggling society._

 _"Of course I have heard some of the very, very few critics who have been of the incorrect opinion that we are doing something terrible or even immoral," the Minister stated only moments after introducing this reporter to a number of lovely cats she had recently acquired. Tea with the Minister is no small affair. "These people, if one can even refer to dangerous criminals as people, are…"_

* * *

Her feet were two leaden weights. It was only by a sheer force of will that she was able to remove herself from the Minister for Magic's presence. She could feel the existence of the wizard she hated above all others only inches behind. Everything still felt like a horrible dream. Hermione hoped desperately that she would wake up back in her freezing cell on her thin, smelly mattress. She could even bear a lifetime of Dolohov staring across the narrow corridor at her watching her every move. At least then he would only be watching. With this horrible new reality, he had been given license to do a great deal more.

Outside of the stone room where her life was irrevocably changed, Hermione witnessed the last few remaining couples who had not yet made their journey to whatever slice of Earth the Ministry was cramming its breeding livestock. As each couple was approached by a small team of officials flanked by the largest aurors she had ever seen, their chains were removed and replaced with matching silver rings on both of their wrists. After a brief explanation of what was to happen next, each couple was handed a dented tin, an old boot or some other bit of rubbish.

As the last members of the demented program to be paired up, Antonin and Hermione were alone with the officials when it was finally their turn. Their chains were vanished with a simple flick of a wand. Her wrists were grabbed roughly by the Ministry worker applying the rings.

"What are these for?" Hermione asked, ignoring the slight pain she felt while the wizard twisted her wrist.

"Keeps a little slut like you from rutting with any of the other animals on the island you're not supposed to," he spat with glee. "Fidelity spells. To keep the right breeders together. Anyone that's not him tries to stick you, they won't like what happens. Neither will you."

"How charming."

She should have known there were going to be measures put into place to prevent the coupled pairs from seeking more desirable partners than the ones assigned to them by the might of the Ministry. To actually have her described as a 'breeder' bothered Hermione more than anything. As if she was no longer even human. She still had not yet made up her mind if a 'breeder' was better than being a prisoner. Time would only tell. In that moment she was using the coping mechanisms she had developed over the previous five hellacious years locked up. She pushed aside her concerns to a corner of her brain she would revisit at a later date. There were too many changes happening to worry about at the present moment.

Antonin stepped up beside her to accept his own rings. He stared down each of the assembled officials with an expression that had been known to make his enemies in the past tremble with fear. Though he was certainly in much reduced circumstances, Hermione found it amusing that the wizard adding Antonin's rings had a slight nervous jitter in his hands. She caught Antonin's eye and smirked. It wasn't difficult to tell that he was warring within himself to keep from returning with his own grin.

"This portkey will take you both to your cottage. Place your hands on it now. And don't forget, the sooner you are able to get pregnant, the sooner you'll be released."

Hermione was ready to get as far away from the speculative and downright predatory grins from the assembled wizards. A low growl coming out of Antonin's throat startled them all. He stepped closer to her, brushing his arm against hers as a silent, solid form of what she assumed was his attempt at support. They each put their hands on the empty crisps wrapper.

Years had passed since the last time she felt the hooking behind her navel that accompanied travel by portkey. The journey only lasted a few seconds though it seemed much longer. Unused to the magic exposure, Hermione felt a bit faint when her feet finally landed on solid ground. She stumbled slightly, falling into a solid weight next to her. Almost immediately she realized she was leaned up against the wizard she'd travelled there with. Antonin dropped the crisps bag to help her steady herself back on her feet.

"It can be strange feeling magic again after a long absence," he explained.

He didn't need to explain how he knew that. This wasn't the first or even the second time he was able to leave the confines of the hated Azkaban Fortress. Hermione stepped away from him as quickly as she could. It was the first time they had ever been completely alone. The thought terrified her more than she was fully aware. There had been safety behind the bars of their cells. With the bars gone, and Antonin not only able but _expected_ to touch her, she had no idea what to expect next.

She turned her attention to the room they landed. It was a simple room with very few items. What need had prisoners of decorations and insignificant furniture? The focal point of the small room was an oversized bed that took up much of the space. After five years of sleeping on a mattress only a few inches thick and older than she was, Hermione thought she was looking at a piece of Heaven. Heavy blankets and plush pillows covered the mattress. She ignored the fact that she would be expected to share with the wizard opening the door feet away.

A delighted chuckle erupted out of the man. Hermione hated the sound. It usually meant he was about to be cruel to her or say something especially disgusting. Curious what was happening, she crossed the room to see.

"Do you think it would be too much to hope for that the water is hot?" Antonin asked.

As far as bathrooms went, theirs was hardly luxurious. If she hadn't spent the previous five years taking sponge baths out of one bucket and relieving herself in another, she wouldn't have even been impressed. But despite the fact that there was hardly enough room for the two of them to stand in there at the same time, Hermione laughed too. One entire wall was taken over by a deep bathtub with a shower inside. A single pedestal sink and a regular flush toilet took up another.

"Does it matter if it's hot?" she replied. "It's not as if I can even remember what hot water feels like."

Antonin leaned down to turn on the taps. He held his hand underneath the stream of running water. After a few seconds, a broad grin crossed his face. Hermione wasn't sure she'd ever seen him look that pleased. He adjusted the taps and pulled the lever to the shower. Every stitch of his tattered prison garb was on the floor before she realized what he was doing. He was happily standing under the stream of hot water before she was able to formulate a verbal response.

"Do you have no shame? You could've waited until I wasn't in the room."

"Granger, for five years, five _years_ , we've seen each other naked. For a chance to take a hot shower with actual soap, I wouldn't care if a thousand strangers were watching me right now."

"You're disgusting."

"I never claimed I wasn't."

He turned his attention back to cleansing his entire body of five years of filth. Not wishing to see any more of the man, Hermione spun around to head out the door. Just above the sink was a small mirror hanging on the wall. Curious, she stepped closer to see what changes, if any, she could see on her face.

It was like looking at a stranger. There hadn't been an opportunity to see her reflection since her life imprisonment began. She couldn't even remember the last time she was able to see herself. Long before the Final Battle. Maybe since the day she and her boys left Shell Cottage to break in to Gringotts? Hermione tried not to cry. Even with the sound of the water still running and the steam filling the small room, she knew Antonin was watching her.

She had been too thin to start with. Life on the run meant finding a decent meal was damn near impossible at times. Fleur tried her best to fatten her unexpected houseguests up, but between nearly dying at Bellatrix Lestrange's hand and months of an inadequate diet, Hermione hadn't put on much weight when they ran off to find the final horcruxes. Immediate imprisonment in Azkaban on starvation rations had not helped matters. Her skin had a waxy quality to it that seemed too thin to stretch over her protruding bones. The caramel colored eyes she had always hated were too large for the head that threatened to topple off her too-small neck at any moment. She could only imagine how bad the rest of her body looked.

"You could join me," suggested Antonin.

She tried to ignore his suggestive wink. Clearly having a hot shower was doing wonders to improve his mood. All anger he might have been feeling for the Ministry officials and the knowledge that he would be forced to produce children against his will, seemed to melt away with the swirling dirt down the drain.

"I'd rather not."

"The hot water might run out."

"I'll take my chances."

"Your loss, Granger."

Hermione left the bathroom quickly to prevent being subjected to any further suggestive remarks. Once she was back inside the bedroom she took a closer look around. A large wardrobe in the corner was filled with new, clean clothing for both of them. She was excited to see a collection of clean knickers, warm pajamas and any other article of clothing she used to take for granted. Five years in the same threadbare nightgown was too long. The worst feeling was cleansing her skin as much as it was possible to with a cold bucket of sea water and then immediately having to put the hated garment back on.

The second door in the bedroom led to a cozy living room. A small dining table with four chairs took up one corner. She almost cried when she saw the large fireplace surrounded by what appeared to be comfortable chairs and a large sofa. Stacks of firewood next to the fireplace promised that she might actually be able to feel warmth soon. It had been so long since she could remember not being cold.

Just past the dining table was another door identical to the one that she had just exited. Remembering that they would be sharing the cottage with another couple, Hermione cautiously approached the door. She was almost as nervous about who else she was expected to live with as she was knowing she had to live with Dolohov. It could be anyone. What if it was Ron and Alecto Carrow? That would be terribly awkward. She and Ron might both soon be short a partner if Antonin murdered their roommate.

Soft sounds of laughter were muffled by the closed door. Laughter? She couldn't imagine there being anything worthy of laughter that day. A higher pitched giggle followed by a lower chuckle proved that _both_ parties were seemingly pleased about their situation. What could possibly be so funny? Hermione knocked on the door, her curiosity getting the better of her sense.

A smirking Thorfinn Rowle opened the door wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. Droplets of water dribbled down his bare chest. Hermione had certainly seen him half-dressed before. It was a hazard of sharing a cellblock for five years. Somehow witnessing the man after stepping out of the shower was different.

"Finn! Come back before the water gets cold!"

At least she had her answer as to what couple they were living with. Truthfully, the possibilities could have been much worse. Mortified at clearly interrupting a moment, Hermione rushed back into her bedroom. She closed the door with a harder slam than she intended. Antonin looked up from where he was rummaging through the wardrobe for clean clothes. Completely without shame, he stood in the middle of their room naked. He turned his head at the sound of the door slam.

"Everything all right?"

"Thorfinn and Hannah live with us. I may have interrupted something. He was wearing a towel."

Antonin's loud laughter rang through the room. Hermione felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. Was this her life now? Would she always be subjected to such humiliation? Her new roommate pulled on clean clothes and sighed the clear sigh of contentment. She could only imagine. Once he was out of the room she planned on taking a decadently long shower before wearing her new clothes. It was sad that just the simple thought of being able to wear knickers again made her happy.

"I'm glad to know that at least _someone_ in this cottage knows how to enjoy a proper shower."

Annoyed by his response and annoyed with the fact that she was brought to the point that was pleased by _knickers_ of all things, Hermione felt her anger at the absurdity of the day begin to rise. The compartment she'd shoved her rage in earlier when she was in the same room as the _cow_ that had somehow managed to rise to the highest level of power in their society began to seep out.

"You are utterly reprehensible, Dolohov! To think that I am now forced to share a bed with you makes me _sick_. I wish I was back in Azkaban without fear of you being able to touch me."

All hint that he had just been laughing disappeared from Antonin's face. Color bloomed in his cheeks too that had nothing to do with embarrassment. He sat on the edge of the bed to put his shoes on with a little more force than was necessary. Hermione simply stared, waiting for him to have some kind of reaction that wasn't entirely disgusting. When he finished with his new shoes, he stood to look around the room in an effort to calm his own frustration.

"I don't know why you're looking at me like that. It's not as if I had a choice either," the angry wizard spat.

"Then why smirk and wink at me? You certainly seemed to be enjoying yourself."

Antonin ceased his survey of their new scant living quarters to level his new breeding partner with a harsh glare. All at once Hermione remembered what a dangerous man she was now expected to live with and procreate with. In just a couple of swift movements, Antonin was across the room using his much larger frame to push her back against the wall. They hadn't been that close since they latched on to the same portkey. Memories of those same dark brown eyes flashing in anger while she was on the other end of his wand made her mouth grow dry. His hand covered her throat with a promise.

"You really don't want to push me, _megera_. I might just one day squeeze until I hear every tiny bone in your body snap."

She didn't doubt that he was capable. Nor did she doubt he was unhinged enough to throw away his one chance at potential freedom for a moment's satisfaction. She knew he was probably the most dangerous man she would ever meet, but she refused to allow him to cower her.

"I'm not afraid of you, Dolohov."

"You should be."

He released her neck and stormed from the room. It was only as she heard the front door slam behind him that she realized his first caress of her body went exactly as she imagined it would.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

 _June 15, 2003_

 _ **Ministry Now Accepting Applications for Adoptive Parents**_

 _Starting immediately, the Ministry of Magic has created a special Department to assist prospective parents get approved for the Minister's Magical Adoption Program. Married couples interested in being considered are urged to visit the Ministry as soon as possible to begin the thorough screening process. Both parties should be prepared for interviews with…_

* * *

Antonin slammed the front door behind him with all of his strength. The sound of the door crashing shut seemed to break the silence of the area. He needed to get away from the horrible woman before he did something insane. Like murder her or throw her on top of that sinfully comfortable-looking bed to fuck her until neither of them remembered their own names.

He was rapidly approaching an unhealthy level of furious and needed to do whatever it took to calm his temper down. For five years he had had no one and nothing to take his anger out on besides himself. One could only flip his horrible cot over so many times without feeling any relief. No longer having the bars to separate him from everyone else could be very dangerous. He'd never been all that good at controlling his volatile temper. Not since he was a little boy.

Just steps outside of his new, much larger prison cell, Antonin lifted his eyes off the ground to take in the immediate area. A quick count revealed sixteen identical cottages arranged around a large, grassy square. Four cottages on each side of the common area. He checked the position of the sun to get his bearings. His cottage was in the Northwest corner. It wouldn't do to get turned around and end up in the wrong cottage. What if he accidentally walked into the one housing Alecto Carrow? Just the thought of that made him shudder in disgust. He would have to figure out some way to make his cottage easily discernible from the others.

It all seemed like some quaint, little village one might pass by on a train trip across the countryside. Antonin wasn't sure exactly what he had been expecting to find on the island he and the others had been exiled to for the immediate future. Not a community that reminded him of the tiny village in Russia he used to spend summers in while his grandparents were still alive. Who would ever guess it was home to some sick, fucking government breeding program?

The realization of what he was expected to do still hadn't hit him yet. He never anticipated he would have children. Once upon a time, he'd assumed he would have that life. His parents had been madly, almost disgustingly in love with each other. When his mum died, his father didn't take long to follow. He'd always envied their relationship. There had been a couple of witches in his past he had almost married. He _almost_ had a family, but as it turned out, it wasn't in the tea leaves for him.

Being forced to live with the Granger girl _and_ impregnate her as many as ten times actually sounded like a nightmare. Sure, she was an attractive girl when her mouth was shut. Too bad it rarely was. He hoped that their new living conditions could bring them both to a healthier state. There was no way she could carry a baby to term in her present condition. She was half-starved.

His daily arguments with the girl had broken up the monotony of prison life. Antonin just wasn't sure he was ready to be in such close quarters with her. She was nice to look at when she took her weekly bath, but to have to hear her voice constantly might drive him even madder than a prison full of dementors.

Most of the other members of the Ministry's fucked up program were tucked away inside their little cottages. Only a few were walking around outside. He imagined that most were still enjoying the first hot shower they had had in years. Maybe even more than one couple was learning the joy of sharing.

Determined to take his mind off of the horrid woman who refused to climb into the shower with him, he focused instead on his surroundings. He was very curious. Just where the hell were they? The sharp scent of saltwater told him that the ocean wasn't far. Tall trees surrounded their complex. Before he could talk himself out of wandering off, Antonin walked behind his cottage to see what was back there. Hadn't they been promised room to walk around? The women would need some form of exercise to stay healthy when they were pregnant after all.

Thinking about Granger being pregnant with his child only made him sick. What would happen to their children? What wretched Ministry-Approved family would get to tuck them in each night and teach them how to ride a broomstick? Would he even get to see them when they were born? Get to hold them? What kind of utterly fucked up world was he living in that these were even questions he had to consider?

The further he walked into the thickness of the trees, the more tired his body grew. He wasn't used to so much physical exertion. In his early years of incarceration he used to exercise in whatever way he could in his tiny cell. It didn't take long before he recognized the futility. Exercise was only important if one wished to live longer. There hadn't been any reason to continue. Their starvation rations meant he never had to worry about growing pudgy, but no exercise made him feel weak. He didn't like that feeling now that there was a reason to live.

He pushed himself a little further through the trees. The desire to find out what was there seemed to take over his better senses. When he walked until his breath came out in pants and his leg muscles were screaming at him, he hadn't even reached the edge of the forest. Antonin sat down on the ground to catch his breath.

It was peaceful in the middle of the woods. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been completely alone. All he knew was that it felt odd and exhilarating. In the months after he was broken out of Azkaban the second time, there had not been much time to just sit and be. He was certain he would use the woods to his advantage in the coming years of his new sentence. They were quiet. Only the sounds of the birds squawking, leaves rustling and the myriad of other soft sounds that could be found in any forest could be heard.

When he no longer felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest, Antonin got back up. It had been a long time since he could remember sweating. Prison was always too bloody cold to make him sweat. He was already looking forward to another hot shower and maybe a nice, long nap in his new bed.

His mood was considerably lighter leaving the woods than it was when he entered. As he made his way into the village, he could feel the last bit of anger leave him. He wasn't foolish enough to believe that would be the last time he would seriously fantasize about murdering the witch in his bedroom. Maybe he discovered what he needed to do the next time the obnoxious chit angered him again.

A few more people were outside when he returned. Rodolphus Lestrange stood in the front garden of his cottage. It was on the west side of the square in the corner closest to his. Antonin had always liked the wizard. He was a quiet man with the strangest taste in witches if his late wife was any indication.

"Hello, Antonin," he greeted.

He closed the distance between them to shake Rodolphus' outstretched hand. They had not seen each other since their trial five years earlier. Lestrange looked as bad as everyone else.

"This is all pretty fucked up, isn't it?" asked Antonin.

Rodolphus chuckled softly. Antonin had to fight back a grin,

"You have always been a man of few, but _powerful_ words, Antonin. I respect that."

"What are your thoughts?"

The older Lestrange brother sighed.

"I'm still trying to process everything. It's been a remarkable day. I woke up not expecting this day to be any different than the thousand we've had before it. Now I am outside in my very own garden with the most enchanting witch currently taking a nap in my bed. I've allowed myself five years of foolish, inappropriate fantasies that I now am being _encouraged_ to act out. It's all very bizarre."

Antonin had to force himself to laugh with the other wizard to keep from grinding his teeth into powder. At least Rodolphus seemed pleased with the arrangement. Why did _he_ have to get stuck with the most infuriating witch he'd ever met?

"I should return to my own _enchanting_ witch," he declared.

The words felt bitter in his mouth. There may never be a time when he looked at _his_ witch the way Rodolphus looked at his. He'd had fantasies over the past five years too. Most of them had to do with filling her mouth in various ways when she wouldn't shut it. Somehow he didn't think the witch he'd been assigned would appreciate him filling her mouth when she got obnoxious. She might bite off his todger and then where would they be?

Antonin took his time walking back to his cottage. His muscles were still screaming at him and he wasn't really looking forward to being in the same room with the harridan. The cottage was silent when he finally entered. He assumed that everyone within was napping. Not that he could blame them. He wanted to take advantage of a real bed with an actual mattress and soft sheets too.

Hermione was fast asleep when he carefully pushed open the door to their bedroom. Her wet hair was forming a spot on her pillow proving that she waited until he was gone to shower. Not wishing to disturb her when she was so peaceful, he tiptoed into the bathroom. Antonin enjoyed his second shower of the day almost as much as he enjoyed the first. He wasn't sure that he would ever get used to having hot water again. There was no rush for him to hurry. He took his time enjoying the feel of the water on his exhausted muscles.

She hadn't even changed positions when he exited the bathroom. Clearly the bed was even better than he hoped. Antonin wanted to slip between the covers completed naked. He loved the feel on this bare skin. Unsure what to do, he stared at the sleeping woman for several long moments before deciding he could do whatever he wanted in his own bed. He dropped his towel from his waist and climbed in.

The feel of the soft sheets on his skin almost made him groan. Living with the horrible woman would simply be his penance. It was a small price to pay for the bed that felt like a cloud. He fell asleep very quickly once his eyes were closed.

* * *

His bedroom was dark when he opened his eyes again. The sun must have already gone down while he was sleeping. Antonin stretched. He couldn't even remember the last time he had a better nap. A glance to the other side of the bed proved that Hermione was staring at him.

"Where did you go?"

Her voice was softer and meeker than he had ever heard it. Usually she spoke in high-pitched shrieks. Had he frightened her that much earlier? He turned on his side to look at her.

"Went for a walk," he explained. "There's a thick forest all around us. I could smell the ocean, but I couldn't see it. Walked until I got tired."

"I stood in the in the doorway but couldn't step outside. It all seemed so _big_."

Antonin understood what she was saying perfectly. When he was broken out of Azkaban after fourteen years, he'd been terrified to step outside too. His life had been lived in just a few square meters. The world seemed so terrifying. He felt a softening towards the woman. Though he might never like her, he felt like he could at least understand her.

"We can take a walk tomorrow. We can walk around the square of cottages and see who lives where."

He was surprised he made the offer. Even more surprised when he realized he actually wanted to. What was wrong with him? Maybe it was because for the first time since he'd known her she seemed so vulnerable and so fragile. His instinct made him want to protect her from the dangers of the world around them. For all intents and purposes, she was now his witch. She was his responsibility. They might not have the great romance that his parents had, but she was likely as close as he was ever going to get to a wife.

"I think I would like that," she responded in that same meek voice he wasn't used to hearing.

The smell of something delicious assaulted their noses. Antonin could feel his stomach begin to wake up for the first time in years. Could it be actual edible food? He was so excited by the thought of having a full belly again that he practically jumped out of bed.

"Why are you naked?"

Antonin laughed at the return of her horrified shriek. He walked over to their shared wardrobe to find some clean clothes to put on. It might be fun to strut around naked in their bedroom to make her uncomfortable, but he doubted their roommates would appreciate it if he did it around the cottage.

"I like the feel of the sheets on my skin."

"There are several sets of men's pajamas in there."

"You wear them. I don't need them."

He dressed quickly, completely ignoring the petulant expression on her face at the thought that he would be spending even more time around her naked. Once he was modest, he exited to find Thorfinn and the Abbott girl were already seated at the dining table. It was amazing the difference a hot shower and a nap could make. They were almost two completely different people than they were that morning when Thorfinn was charging the auror who was too rough with her. Both of them were smiling at each other in that way happy couples often do when they were in love. Antonin felt extreme envy in his gut. What made them so special?

To prevent ever increasingly depressing thoughts from invading his mind, he tried to focus on the fresh bread and light soup on the table instead. Clearly their bodies weren't going to be ready for much more than the simple fare for a little while longer. It didn't matter to him. He couldn't wait to tuck in. Vials of potions were set up at each place setting. Before he could sit down, Hermione joined them.

"Our fertility potions, I take it?" she said with a grimace.

Thorfinn picked up a few of the vials to read the labels. Potions was never Antonin's best subject.

"These three are just vitamin potions. I'm guessing they're trying to get us as healthy as possible first. These two here are to boost our fertility. For Antonin and me, they will boost our sperm count and for you ladies, they will help regulate your menstrual cycles and…"

Hermione scoffed. Thorfinn stopped his explanation to glare at the witch.

"Is there a problem, Princess?"

"Do you honestly expect us to believe that you know what you're talking about? You might sound confident, but you're not exactly known for your brains."

"It might surprise you to know that I'm more than just a pretty face."

His remark only made the wretched girl laugh. Antonin rolled his eyes. He used to be Thorfinn's partner on many different raids and missions and he felt like he'd gotten to know him fairly well after five years in cells next to each other. Thorfinn was a very intelligent wizard. He simply was discounted because he was so large and something of a bully. Also didn't help that he preferred to keep his intelligence a closely guarded secret. He didn't like to show all of his cards.

"It's true," Thorfinn insisted with a smile. "Made an 'O' on my Potions NEWT."

Hermione's laughter stopped. She seemed confused.

"Then after Hogwarts I went on to have an apprenticeship with Professor Snape's old mentor. He was the one who recommended me. I was halfway to my Mastery when my mum died and I had to come home to take care of my little sister. Worked in an apothecary until the war started."

Clearly she didn't know what to say in response. Antonin laughed. It amused him that she was speechless. Finally, she cleared her throat.

"I apologize. All of those times I found you with your cock in some poor witch in various places all over the castle, I just assumed you were nothing more than a rutting pig."

Thorfinn chuckled loudly at her words. Antonin didn't understand what she was talking about. Clearly there was a story there he didn't know. Later he would have to figure out what they meant.

"I was seventeen. That's _exactly_ what I was. I just also happened to know a lot about potions too."

"So what's that last one?" she asked in an effort to move the conversation along.

"A very mild lust potion."

The witch groaned.

"It's an old fashioned recipe. Doesn't get brewed very often. I think I only brewed it two or three times in all my years at the apothecary. It was commonly used by newly married couples in arranged marriages. Something to start up the spark in their loveless unions if you will. Like I said, it's very mild. It will take some time to build up in our systems. It's supposed to open our eyes to what we already find naturally attractive about the other."

"So we all drink this potion and then our bodies will force us to find our partner attractive?" Hermione seemed disgusted by the very idea.

"I don't think Hannah and I will need it, but it should have some pleasant _enhancements_."

Thorfinn winked at Hannah, making her blush bright red. Antonin hadn't even eaten yet and he was ready to throw up. One glance at Hermione showed she had a similar expression. At least that was one more thing they had in common.

"Well, I'm not taking it," Hermione declared.

"We don't have any choice, Hermione," Hannah explained gently. "The house-elf that delivered our meal said that the vials are charmed. If we don't drink _all_ of them, none of us can eat. Finn tested it. Couldn't even dip a spoon in the soup."

It seemed that occasionally one of the idiots employed by the Ministry of Magic had a stroke of genius. Naturally there would be some initial resistance amongst the breeding stock to take all of the prescribed potions. Antonin certainly didn't like the sound of the lust potion even if it was as mild as Thorfinn claimed it to be. Wasn't it bad enough that he had to eventually fuck the obnoxious girl? Now he was expected to find her _attractive_ when he did so? If one person at the table was unwilling to drink them, no one would be able to eat. He didn't imagine one person would have any chance against three starving dining companions.

Wanting to eat the soup that was taunting him, Antonin uncorked each of the vials in front of his plate. In quick succession, he swallowed them all. The other three just watched him, perhaps waiting for some kind of ill effect. When nothing happened immediately, Thorfinn and the Abbott girl followed his lead. Only Hermione was reluctant. He rolled his eyes and uncorked her vials for her. If she thought he was going to let her keep him from the first hot meal he'd had since before the Battle of Hogwarts, she was sadly mistaken. Antonin would pour them down her throat if it came to it.

Thankfully, she caved under the pressure. He didn't even have to resort to threats. Hermione swallowed each of the potions. A shifting in the magic over the steaming dishes indicated they were free to eat. Thorfinn told Hannah to help herself first. Hannah told Thorfinn to help himself. Still annoyed with their behavior, Antonin helped himself first. When his bowl was full and his plate had several pieces of hot bread, he handed the ladle over to Hermione.

Everyone's spirits increased the more they ate. It felt amazing to finally have a warmth in his belly. An entire bowl and a half was consumed before he knew he needed to stop. Too much too soon and he would get sick. Though it was tempting to keep pouring the soup down his throat, he didn't fancy spending his first night in the tiny bathroom.

He could hardly keep his eyes open as the meal wound down. It didn't matter that he'd taken a long nap only a short time earlier. His exhausted body craved more sleep. A loud yawn from Hermione that she couldn't stifle made them all chuckle. Moments later they excused themselves to return to their own bedrooms.

Hermione didn't spend long in the bathroom brushing her teeth and washing her face. She was already in bed when he was finished. He almost laughed when he saw the terror in her eyes. Before he got in next to her, Antonin crossed the room to the wardrobe. Though he hated the thought of anything getting between his skin and the sheets, he didn't really care for how she was looking at him. It reminded him too much of the two times they'd been on the wrong end of each other's wands.

She relaxed only slightly when she watched him change into the dreaded pajamas. At least some of the terror dissipated. Antonin rolled his eyes and climbed into bed. Her eyes never left his frame. It was unnerving.

"What?" he finally demanded when he couldn't take her staring any longer.

"Are you... I mean, are you wanting to…"

"Am I wanting to _what_ , Granger?" He was too tired for games.

"Are you wanting to have sex with me?"

The eight words might as well have been one single word. She spoke them so quickly that he almost didn't understand what she was asking. Antonin rolled over on his side to face her before responding. Is that why she was so terrified? Did she sincerely think he was some kind of animal that couldn't keep his hands to himself? He had never taken a witch against her will. There had never been any need. They came willingly and often when he was younger.

"No, I'm not. This may come as a surprise to you, but after this enormously fucked up day, I'm not in the mood to defile some quivering virgin before bed. I'd rather go to sleep and enjoy _one_ night in this bed where I can do nothing but sleep."

She didn't respond. If the lamps were on, he was certain her cheeks would be flushing bright red. After he stared at her for an awkward length of time waiting for her to say something, say _anything_ , he turned back over to his other side and closed his eyes.

"I'm not, you know."

Her words were spoken in the same meek tone she used earlier. He almost missed it. If the rest of the cottage hadn't been completely silent, he wouldn't have heard.

"You're not what?"

"A 'quivering virgin'," she declared in that same voice. "I'm not completely without experience."

"Oh."

Antonin wasn't sure what to do with that knowledge. Certainly it would make matters just a bit easier when it finally came time to do what they were expected to do. His mind moved down avenues that it was best he not go down. He tried to shake out the thoughts before they took root. One night. One night of nothing but sleep was all he wanted before he had to face his new reality. Was that too much to ask?

"Good night, Antonin."

The use of his first name was a surprise. She at least seemed to be trying. Surely he could as well.

"Good night, _Hermione_."

His eyes grew heavy. Her shift in breathing next to him meant she was already asleep. Just as he felt the first wave of drowsiness take hold, a loud bang on the wall behind their bed made him jump. A second even louder bump shook their bed enough that Hermione was jarred awake. When a third and then a fourth and then a fifth bump shook their bed again, he was livid. Delighted, breathy moans and proud grunts bled through the paper-thin walls.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he growled.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

 _June 20, 2003_

 _ **Thousands of Potential Adoptive Parents Flood the Ministry**_

 _Despite a few vocal critics of the Minister for Magic's plan to boost our waning magical population, in the first week that applications were accepted, thousands of potential parents rushed to the newly formed Department of Magical Adoption. Additional interviews are being set up to weed out the less desirable candidates. Applicants are encouraged to…_

* * *

One fucking night was all he was asking for and the universe couldn't even grant him that. Or rather, his horny roommates in the next room couldn't grant him his one desire. Antonin had watched as Thorfinn fell in love with the blonde Hufflepuff over the years they lived in cells next to each other. He remembered vividly the moment that Abbott and the Weasley girl were brought into their cellblock in chains following their sham of a trial. Thorfinn took one look at the terrified, silently crying witch across the narrow corridor and never looked back. His heart belonged to Hannah Abbott only minutes after she arrived. It had taken the witch a little bit longer to make her feelings for the massive wizard known. She managed to make it an entire week before it was written all over her pretty face.

Yes, he was jealous. He would admit that if only to himself. Antonin had been in love before. It was a million years ago in a lifetime he could hardly remember, but she had been lovely. A Ravenclaw Muggleborn witch he'd taken six years to work up the courage to ask out, there were times he could still see her face when he closed his eyes at night. They wouldn't have made it. Not with the choices he was faced with the moment they left Hogwarts. She'd recognized the danger of the world they were living in. Though she begged and pleaded with him to come with her when she left to start a new life abroad, Antonin had already been seduced by the pretty words of a madman.

He dealt with his broken heart by pretending it didn't exist. Alcohol, sex with willing witches, and the thrill of creating and using vicious spells filled the hole he ignored. It had not taken long before he became a wizard he did not even recognize. Anna wouldn't know him either if she was ever cursed to cross his path again. She would hate him. Likely she already did. It wasn't as if his crimes were hidden. He was a cruel man. He was a brutal and hard man. His choices made him what he was. There was no room for love anymore even if he had the opportunity.

Listening to the sounds of the couple in the next door happily and gleefully fulfilling the duties required of them by the Ministry's fucking breeding program made him angry in a manner he had not been in in a long time. His capacity for envy and jealousy had lain dormant for many, many years. He could hardly see straight he was so envious of their relationship. Why did they get to be happy about what was happening?

Hermione was staring at him with wide eyes. Once she realized what the noise was that woke her up, she'd done nothing but stare at the wizard she had been cursed to share a bed and a life with. At least until the moment she was able to produce the _tenth_ fucking child required by their sentence. Even in the dimness he could see the flush in her cheeks and the unshed tears in her eyes. He considered for the first time that maybe he wasn't the only one in that bedroom seething with jealousy. Had she been in love before? She admitted that she wasn't a virgin. Had there been something between her and the Potter boy like so many suspected? Or perhaps with one of the other poor sods condemned to servitude on the same damned island?

Antonin threw the blankets off. It seemed like a sin to leave a warm bed, but he refused to just lie there while the miscreants next door shook their bed with their carnal activities. Hermione didn't move to stop him or even ask what he was doing. He could feel her eyes follow him all the way out the door to their bedroom.

Sounds were louder just outside Thorfinn and Hannah's door. Maybe the walls were better insulated than he initially thought. Antonin brought his fist down on the door repeatedly and then threw the piece of wood open hard enough that it crashed into the wall. The occupants were surprised mid-thrust by his intrusive appearance. Thorfinn was seated with his back against the headboard. Hannah screamed when she saw their unwelcome guest. She removed her hands from the top of the headboard she had been using to assist her set a pleasurable rhythm on top of her wizard. The embarrassed witch grabbed at the blankets to cover her naked form. Antonin just rolled his eyes. It wasn't as if he hadn't already seen Abbott naked over a hundred times.

"Other people are trying to sleep in this cottage," he declared through gritted teeth. "Kindly refrain from slamming into the wall."

Thorfinn only laughed.

"Guess we got a little carried away. You and Princess should try it. Might make you both a bit easier to live with."

Antonin clenched his fists. One second with a wand and the idiot would never be able to open his mouth again. He didn't want to be reminded that there was a woman in the next room he was expected to bed. Somehow knowing that he was _required_ to do something made him less likely to want to do it. It had been amusing at first to know that she was uncomfortable with the situation. Of all the possibilities in that stone room in Azkaban, she was stuck with him. He knew he shouldn't have winked at her in such a cheeky manner, but it was funny at the time. She _hated_ him so much. Despite Lucius' constant burbling on about how they were just victims of unresolved sexual tension, Antonin hated the girl too. Maybe his feelings would change one day. For the foreseeable future, however, he wasn't going to hold his breath waiting.

Legitimately concerned that he was about to ignore the naked witch still on top of the obnoxious youngster and resort to Muggle fighting tactics, Antonin reached for the doorknob. After one last glare at the couple, he slammed the door and retreated back to his room. Hermione was still awake, clearly waiting for his return to settle back down.

"Thank you," she whispered as he got back in bed. "I'm not sure I could've handled that another moment."

He nodded his head once in acknowledgment. Antonin laid his head back down on his pillow, but sleep refused to come as easily as it had. Based on the lack of heavy breathing from the woman next to him, he assumed she was still awake too. Careful not to jostle the bed, he turned over on his side to face her. Almost at once her eyes fluttered open to meet his.

"I'm so jealous I could scream," she admitted softly.

Her words surprised him. Most people he had known over the years weren't quite so open about their feelings. The advantage of surrounding himself with former Slytherins, he was sure. Admitting any kind of weakness was a dangerous move in the circles he was familiar with. There were always people waiting to take anything one said to use to their advantage. It felt strange to hear her admit exactly what he was feeling.

"So am I."

His reply startled him as well. Why was he being so honest? She was still an enemy. They were not friends. They were not family. They were not even comrades. Before the war ended, they were bitter enemies. He'd tried to kill her at least twice before the final battle. If he'd been anywhere near her and not occupied by the damned werewolf, he would not have hesitated to take his anger out on her for a third time. She was the only person he'd ever struck with his curse that survived. Just because they spent five years peering into the other's cell and they now shared a bed did not mean they weren't still enemies. That fact may never change regardless of how intimate they were forced to become.

"I'm jealous, but I'm also happy that at least they were able to find some kind of happiness in this situation. I feel guilty that I'm jealous, but I can't deny it."

"I understand perfectly," he confessed.

"I was jealous of you earlier too."

Antonin could feel his eyes widen in confusion. What could she possibly mean by that? He wasn't even sure how to respond. Hermione sighed and rolled over onto her back so she wasn't looking him in the eye any longer. Her gaze was focused entirely on the ceiling.

"You seemed so happy when you were taking a shower. I didn't understand why. I mean, yes, I understand that showers are amazing and I thoroughly enjoyed mine after you left. I just mean that you were able to find some joy in all of this and I couldn't. Rowle and Hannah were able to find joy in each other. All I could focus on was the fact that I'm still not sure that this is a better alternative to dying in prison."

"Trust me, Granger. _Any_ life outside of the walls of that prison is better than a life within. There isn't a life inside. Just meaningless drudgery every single day. I know I've told you this before, but though it was worse, much, much worse with the dementors, there is no life in Azkaban. Freedom is better."

"But we're not free."

"No, not yet, but we could be. And the possibility of freedom will always be better than knowing that you will die in prison."

It seemed so strange talking to the obnoxious girl in such a candid manner. When she was vulnerable and scared, she didn't annoy him as much. Antonin wondered how long she would stay that way. He was surprised to realize that he was starting to miss the feisty girl who argued with him every morning. Surely that said something dreadful about his own character.

"Have you not found _anything_ you can find the faintest hint of joy in?" he asked, internally wondering why he was still talking to her and not even attempting to regain the sleep he was missing out on.

The tiniest hint of a giggle fell out of her mouth at his question. Despite himself, Antonin could feel the hint of a smile begin to form on his lips. It was such an innocent sound.

"I am wearing knickers again. That makes me very happy. I hadn't realized how much I missed them."

He didn't mean to laugh. It felt like such a foreign sound to come out of his mouth, especially when he didn't mean for it to. But he couldn't help it. Such an innocent reason to be happy. Even if it made his mind shift for the briefest of moments to parts of her anatomy better left not thought about, he found himself amused by her answer. Once she got over the initial shock of hearing the terrifying Death Eater of her nightmares laugh, Hermione joined in with him.

"Hot showers and knickers. Two things we can both be happy about."

"Thank you, Antonin."

Hermione granted him one of the first genuine smiles of their entire acquaintance. Antonin cleared his throat before telling the girl it was late and they should try to get some sleep. They each rolled over on their sides. Silence in the cottage allowed them to drift away moments later.

* * *

The smell of hot breakfast was what finally encouraged Antonin to get out of bed the next morning. Once he had finally been able to fall asleep, he slept harder than he had in years. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a better night's sleep. Definitely before the war ended. Perhaps even before the _first_ war ended.

He was surprised to find the bed empty. Hermione must have been very careful getting out of bed. He had always been an exceptionally light sleeper. Or perhaps he was just that far gone to the world thanks to the heavenly comfortable bed. How had he managed to live almost twenty years combined in the horrific conditions of Azkaban prison? The mattresses alone were enough to drive a man mad.

Only the promise of another hot meal was enough to entice him to move. He could definitely get used to being fed regularly. Everyone was already waiting for him at the table when he finally emerged fully dressed. Hermione kept her eyes focused on the steaming plate of eggs. The happy couple kept chuckling softly and yawning. Antonin rolled his eyes. No need to guess why there were deep bags under each of their eyes.

All three had already consumed their potions while waiting for his arrival. Not wishing to delay eating any longer, Antonin knocked each of the vials back. They all ate in silence. Hermione and Antonin both tried to ignore the soft, familiar touches that passed between the others. It was one of the more awkward meals he had ever participated in. When the last of the simple meal was scraped off his plate, he dropped his fork and pushed his chair back.

"Would you like to take that walk now, Hermione?"

She was anxious enough to leave that she dropped a fork filled with eggs headed towards her mouth onto her plate. He almost laughed at how quickly she rushed to the front door with him. Clearly he wasn't the only person ready to get away from the other couple. They didn't even seem to notice they were the only ones left at the table.

When he stepped through the front door, Hermione did not follow. She stood in the doorway just staring at the limited activity that was occurring in the little village. He'd forgotten how upset she'd been the day before when she tried to step outside the first time. It was a feeling he could remember. Too much time inside a small space could warp a person's perceptions.

Without giving it much thought, Antonin extended his hand to the witch. Hermione stared at it like she was afraid it would hurt her. As he stood there holding his hand out, he felt like a fool. Just as he sighed and moved to lower it, a small, cold, and slightly clammy hand grasped it. She was terrified. He could feel it in the tremor of her tiny hand.

"We don't have to go very far," he promised in a soft voice he hadn't used in years. Not since he found that damned kitten in his mum's house right after she died. It had been scared and alone. Despite being a big, bad Death Eater, he was able to coax it out of its hiding place with just the tone of his voice. The witch reminded him of the kitten. "We can just see who lives around us and come back."

She seemed satisfied with the assurance that she could go back inside the cottage whenever she wanted. It felt odd to start walking with her hand still clutched in his. He had to slow his steps to keep from outpacing her. Fear was a powerful entity. Likely it would take some time and several trips outside of their cottage before she felt safe in the wide open spaces.

"Rodolphus Lestrange lives in that cottage with… I don't remember her name."

"Luna Lovegood."

"Right. I was at school with her father. _Interesting_ man. Spent seven years in the same dorm with the wizard. Learned a lot about fictitious creatures and conspiracies within the Ministry."

"But Mr. Lovegood was a Ravenclaw."

Antonin resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her clearly confused expression. Naturally she would assume that since he was an evil follower of the Dark Lord, he _must_ have been a member of Salazar Slytherin's House. It was a common misconception. What was the old saying about Slytherin being the only House the produced Dark witches and wizards? It was ridiculous. He had been attracted to knowledge that had been denied to him by more mainstream sources. The opportunity to learn directly from the greatest Dark wizard in creation had been extremely tempting.

"And so was I."

"But you…"

"Yes, Hermione. I was a Ravenclaw _and_ a Death Eater."

She looked as if she didn't know how to process that information. Sometimes he forgot how young she actually was. Her childhood was over too soon. She should've been tucked away in the safety of her common room reading her Arithmancy texts instead of fighting grown witches and wizards to the death in battle. It was a fucked up world they both lived in.

"I apologize. I just _assumed_."

They walked past Rodolphus' cottage. Antonin wasn't sure what other couple lived inside with them. No doubt they would learn where everyone was located soon enough. The witch hadn't released hold of his hand yet. In fact, the further they walked down the west side of the square of cottages, the tighter her grip seemed to grow.

A redhead stood outside the second cottage with his hands in his trouser pockets simply staring across the grassy common area in the middle of the square. He didn't even seem to hear their approach. Antonin didn't know him. One of those blasted Weasleys certainly. Only steps away from the wizard, Hermione dropped his hand. Startled and even a little disappointed at the loss of the contact, Antonin watched as she closed the distance and threw her arms around the redhead's neck.

He felt like an intruder watching the embrace. The wizard was a few years older than Hermione. Maybe in his thirties. They'd probably exchanged curses before but never got a proper introduction. Antonin stood there with his ear focused on their hushed conversation and his eyes on the surrounding area.

"How are you, Charlie?" she asked, concern clear in her voice.

"Not so great, Hermione, if I can be honest. Been wondering since yesterday if I should just figure out a way to make them throw me back in Azkaban. Seems like a better alternative."

"Charlie…"

"Don't use that tone with me."

Antonin noted the steady rise in the wizard's voice. He didn't care for the volume and how he was staring at his witch. The younger man was angry for reasons he didn't know or care. If he thought for one second that he could speak down to Hermione, he would quickly find out that he was wrong. In an effort to remind the damned Weasley that she wasn't alone, Antonin stepped closer until he was standing directly behind Hermione. He narrowed his eyes at the man over the top of her head.

"You realize they put Angelina, _George's_ Angelina, with Dad? Not only did they keep my parents apart for five years, but they removed Dad, left Mum in prison, and then assigned his son's fiancée to him."

Weasley's rant caught Antonin's attention. He hadn't considered how the prolific Weasley family would be affected by the program. They were known for their fertility, though clearly the matriarch was past her child-bearing days. It had been difficult to keep up the day before when the pairings were announced. Most of the names meant nothing to Antonin. If they weren't close, personal friends from his past or one of the other six people he'd lived on a cellblock with for five years, he hadn't really cared what happened. Forcing a man to live and procreate with his son's fiancée was twisted.

"Ron's with that horrible woman. She's almost old enough to be his mother. Percy seems to have done all right with that Farley witch. I remember her. He could do worse. George is sick. I've never heard of his _partner_. Some brand-new recruit fresh out of Hogwarts when the war ended. And Bill…"

The Weasley sighed the familiar sigh of a defeated man. Antonin knew it all too well. He'd heard it hundreds of times.

"His cottage is directly across the grass." Charlie pointed across the commons. "How can I ever look at him again, Hermione?"

"None of us are particularly pleased with who we ended up with…"

"His _wife_ , Hermione. His fucking wife. I'm supposed to _breed_ with my brother's wife."

Antonin knew the Ministry was fucked. He just had no idea how much. Splitting apart married couples was bad enough, but forcing the wife to carry her husband's brother's children was unconscionable. He wondered what the bleeding hearts on the mainland would think if they heard this sordid tale. It made him intensely curious just what the rest of wizarding society thought about what was happening. Surely there wasn't one hundred percent approval for this mess.

"You might not like Dolohov after he cursed you, but it's not as if he was married to your sister."

Hermione turned towards the direction they had just come walking from. Without saying another word to either of them, she took off running as fast as her unhealthy, weakened body would allow. Antonin glared at the Weasley one final time before rushing off after her.

Somehow she managed to make it to the cottage before he could. His legs were much longer, but clearly her determination was stronger. She didn't even bother closing the front door to the cottage behind her when she ran in. Thorfinn and Hannah were still seated at the dining table when he entered. The looks of confusion and concern on their faces, respectively, were clear. He waved his hand dismissively at them, letting them know he had it under control without actually speaking.

She wasn't in their bedroom. The door to the bathroom wasn't completely shut either. He approached it carefully. No sounds of running water or crying could be heard. He tapped on the door lightly. There was no answer. Concerned by her strange behavior, Antonin pushed the door open. He could hear her sniffles and rapid breathing, but he couldn't see her.

"Hermione?"

"I just need a minute."

He pulled aside the simple shower curtain to see her sitting in the bathtub with her knees pulled up to her chest. She was taking repeated deep breaths to prevent what he was sure was the potential for a full-blown panic attack.

"Baths tend to work best when you're not wearing any clothes and you fill the bathtub up with water."

Ordinarily she would engage him. Realizing that she was too upset to even roll her eyes bothered Antonin more than he cared to admit. He sat down on the tile floor next to the tub. The least he could do was keep her company until she was calm again.

"Say the word, Hermione, and I'll go back there and strangle Weasley for upsetting you."

Her teary eyes shot up to meet his. Slowly her breathing returned to normal.

"That won't be necessary."

After a few more minutes of silence, she looked him in the eye again.

"You would do that for me?"

"I think it's part of my job. You're the mother of my future children…"

She narrowed her eyes and glared. Antonin wasn't sure what prompted him to say what he did. Truthfully, he was uncomfortable being alone with the witch when she was upset. He felt at a loss of what to do. It was a feeling he hated.

"Don't make jokes about that, Antonin."

"I assure you, I don't find _anything_ amusing about what's happening to us."

"Leave Charlie alone. He has every right to be upset."

"What's going on here, Hermione? Why are you in the bathtub?"

Almost as if she was realizing in that moment how strange her location was, Hermione rose to her feet. She stepped over the side of the tub only to slide down to the floor next to him. Their arms brushed against each other.

"I don't really know. I didn't like being outside and then Charlie… I don't know. It's like seeing him and talking to him made this all seem so much more real. Can you believe what they did to the Weasley family? It's almost as if the Ministry specifically set out to hurt them. Why would they do that? Is it all some sort of sick grudge of someone still within the Ministry? I know that Ron always said that his dad…"

He was used to her prattling on. Five years he'd been forced to listen to it with no way to shut her up. Many of his most disgusting fantasies involved shutting her up when she wouldn't stop talking. None of them he would act upon, of course. They were only suitable for the dark recesses of his mind. Antonin might have been notorious for his use of violence in his information extraction missions. He might have also lost count the number of Muggles he happily cut down with one of his knives. Truthfully, the exact death count at his hands was impossible to figure. Indulging in one of his darker fantasies simply would not do. He wasn't a monster after all.

"… had some enemies inside the Ministry. Many people didn't like the fact that he liked Muggles. That's why he didn't get promoted when…"

Kissing her seemed like a much easier way to shut her up. Certainly less dangerous and less likely to end in pain. He put two fingers under her chin while her mouth was still moving. A gentle press of his thumb on her jaw moved her face towards his. The verbal spew of useless sounds ceased the moment he covered her soft lips with his lips. It surprised them both when she didn't push him away.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who remained so patient waiting for this story to come off of hiatus while I was finishing up my monster of a story_** **The Minister's Secret** ** _. If I hadn't taken the time, I would probably be writing TMS for a lot longer and honestly, I was just ready to move on from that story. For new readers, welcome. Please note that while I have taken this story off of Temporary Hiatus, that does not mean I will be updating it every two or three days. There is no set update schedule on this story. It just kind of happens when it happens. But, I don't plan on putting it back on Hiatus anytime in the future. This is another one of those stories that I would like to go ahead and get finished soon-ish. But please, please, please don't start begging for updates. Trust me, that's the fastest way to make a writer lose motivation and make them feel like garbage. Updates will come when they come. Thank you for your patience._**

 ** _Please note that the newspaper articles at the top of each chapter do not necessarily match the exact date of the events in the chapter. It is just to give you a glimpse of what is happening in the 'real world' while our captives are stuck on the island. Dates are approximate. You will see as the story progresses how long the captives have been stuck there in a general sense. This story is not like_** **The Minister's Secret** ** _where the date and time of the events was listed above. Just so you all aren't confused!_**

* * *

Chapter Six

 _August 3, 2003_

 ** _Magical Births Department Begins Approving Adoptive Parents_**

 _After an astonishing show of interest in the magical babies being provided by Minister Umbridge's new program for Azkaban inmates, the newly-formed Magical Births Department at the Ministry of Magic is pleased to announce that the first round of adoptive parents have been selected. Those who will be able to adopt one of the first babies should be receiving an official owl within the next seven…_

* * *

Every single cell in Hermione's brain was screaming at her to stop what she was doing. Despite knowing that this moment would have to come eventually, she wasn't fully prepared for what it would feel like to have Antonin Dolohov's hands on her body, his tongue invading her mouth. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time. Whether it was the potions she had been forced to consume in order to eat or if there was truth in what Lucius used to say every time they argued, she wasn't sure. All she knew was that other than her mind, the rest of her traitorous body begged for more.

Antonin was not gentle in his touches or his movements. She never expected him to be. When she allowed her mind to wander to what the actual act would be like whenever they had to face the terms of the program they were enrolled in, she assumed he would be rough, brutal, perhaps even a bit mean. There were times he would stare at her across the narrow corridor between their cells with the most vicious expression on his face. Usually when she was in some state of undress. She could only imagine what debauched thoughts he possessed. Never would she ask him for clarification. He was a cruel man who would hurt her given half a chance. Hadn't he already proven that the day before when he slammed her head against the door and threatened to squeeze her throat until the gentle bones in her neck snapped?

And yet, she didn't want to push him away. Either it was temporary madness or the potions. He didn't seem in any rush to escalate past kissing. For that, she was thankful. Too much, too soon and she would likely panic and run away. But where was she going to run exactly? She was terrified of stepping out the front door.

No one had kissed her since Ron, since the moment in the middle of the final battle when she dropped the basilisk fangs to press her lips firmly against his. It had been an innocent kiss, one that helped to boost their spirits in the last push of the battle that would claim the life of their best friend and irrevocably change theirs. Antonin was going to bruise her lips, her mouth, who knew what other parts of her before they broke apart. She wanted more. With her eyes closed, she could imagine he was anybody. As it was, his assault on her mouth was the only thing keeping her fears suppressed. How could she dwell on how big the world was outside and how cruel the Ministry of Magic was when every nerve-ending in her body was charged and practically singing?

Unsure what to do with her hands, but knowing that she wanted him closer, she placed her left around his neck and ran her right through his dark brown hair. A low groan sounded in the back of his throat. Antonin's grip on her body tightened. With his hands on her hips, he dragged her into his lap. The evidence that he wasn't as horrified by the turn of events as he should have been was made perfectly clear. Feeling how hard he was might have scared Hermione away if she wasn't so terribly interested in finding out what was going to happen next.

She meant what she said to him the night before when they were lying in bed. It had been years since she was a 'quivering virgin'. A couple of fumbled, but charmingly sweet times with Viktor when he was staying at Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament and a few late nights with Cormac in an abandoned classroom she would've liked to forget took care of at least some of her inexperience. Maybe it wasn't enough to be impressive or to mean that she would likely be any good. Somehow, based on the animalistic moans that came out of Antonin's mouth every time she just barely moved against him, she didn't think it would matter.

There was no reason to push him away, to tell him to stop. If they wanted to get off of that island alive and have some hope of having a life outside of the walls of Azkaban, they had to get started on creating the babies the Ministry was planning to steal. She pushed those thoughts away. If she chose to dwell too much on the details of the program, she wouldn't be able to carry through with it. What they were asking of the former inmates was inhuman. How anyone other than the horrendous toad thought it was a viable option for increasing the amount of magical births was beyond her. Were that many witches and wizards outside the confines of their deserted island able to forget the fact that despite their perceived past crimes, they were still human beings with real emotions?

Antonin removed his lips from hers just long enough to pull the thin shirt she was wearing over her head. He was practically devouring her mouth again as he moved his hands behind her back and deftly removed the final barrier to her bare flesh. She couldn't think anymore about the program details and the horrific conditions with his hands alternating between sliding up and down her back and gently, almost tenderly, rubbing her breasts. Another low groan exited his throat the moment his thumbs brushed against her hardening nipples. The sensitivity in that part of her body so long untouched by anyone but herself caused a great shiver to course through her entire being, inadvertently sliding against his own sensitivity.

His hands moved to grab her sides just under her breasts. In one sudden movement, she was off his lap and lying on her back against the cool tiles. She gasped at the unexpected sensation. Antonin's dark brown eyes were darker than she had ever seen them before. He stared into hers, unblinking, as he removed his own shirt. Some of her good senses started to return as he ripped the clothes from the lower half of her body in one rough tug. Completely and entirely exposed to the madman, she feared what she knew was going to happen next. Would he make it hurt? Would he channel his obvious hatred of her into a painful experience? Was there something wrong with her that she hoped he would?

They didn't like each other. Not at all. Lucius and the others in their cellblock might have been convinced there were feelings underneath the surface that they were unable to express to the other, but she knew better. She _loathed_ Antonin. Truthfully, she couldn't even imagine there being a time when that would change. His feelings for her were clear. She was an annoyance, one he would snuff out if given half a chance. Only the fact that he would be permanently removed from the program if he murdered her kept him from acting out his darkest fantasies. If either of them even still possessed the capability to love another person after the horrors they'd witnessed in their lives, the targets of their respective affections didn't exist in their fucked-up excuse for a family unit. So, unable to ignore that they would rather kill each other than kiss each other, why was she anxious to keep going down the very slippery slope they were on?

A scream she didn't anticipate ripped from her body when she felt his tongue in a place only one other tongue had been before. Cormac tried to show off one night many years earlier. Placed her on top of an old teacher's desk and attempted to prove what a skilled lover he was. It had hardly been a pleasurable experience, even if it was _memorable_. There was a clear distinction in a young teenager with very limited experience to a grown man who had time and opportunity to hone his skills. Emboldened by her response, Antonin grew more confident in his actions. No longer able to form a coherent thought, Hermione lay on the bathroom tile with her eyes closed and focused on nothing but the unexpected pleasure she never would've dreamed would come from a hardened and dangerous Death Eater.

She couldn't move. Couldn't think. Could hardly breathe. If these were the _enhancements_ they were to expect from the potions they had to consume with each meal, she would never hesitate to swallow one again. And if they were simply because a talented partner, she was certain any repeat performances would hardly be viewed as a hated chore in the future.

Antonin's tongue and his long fingers worked her up into a frenzy the like she couldn't remember experiencing before with anyone else. When she feared she would completely lose her mind if he didn't stop, her release ripped through her, threatening to tear her apart from the inside out. She didn't recognize the sounds coming out of her mouth. Before her shaking thighs ceased their trembling and the waves of bliss dissipated, her partner squeezed the underside of her legs with his hands to enter her in one swift thrust. Her back arched off of the tile floor, offering no resistance to the intrusion.

His pace was careful to start. Afraid of what she would see when she looked up, Hermione opened her eyes. The man's intense gaze didn't move from her face. He was a man that wanted to watch the effect his actions had on his partner, chosen or not. Their eyes met. Neither could look away as he sped up. When his motions became more erratic, less controlled, he leaned over her body to capture her mouth in a fierce, searing kiss. He groaned into her mouth, his body collapsing on top of hers.

Neither of them spoke or moved. Not until their rapid heart rates decreased and their breaths came out evenly. As soon as Hermione could no longer feel the pounding of Antonin's chest, the wizard rose with red cheeks, pulled his trousers up, picked up his discarded shirt and exited the bathroom. The sound of the front door opening and slamming shut followed moments after his rapid departure. Hermione didn't stir from where she lay on the tiles, completely naked and thoroughly mortified by what just happened. Was this what her life was going to be from now? A series of humiliating moments where they both hated themselves for what they were forced to do?

* * *

Speaking about what happened on the bathroom floor was never an option. Not even hours later when Antonin returned back to the cottage for their next meal and promptly exited when he was finished. He seemed every bit as ashamed as Hermione felt. Hardly even able to look at her. When it was time for bed that first night, they slipped under the covers and slept as far away from the other as physically possible without tumbling out of the bed.

Several days passed after their arrival on the island where Hermione tried and failed to leave the small house. She would stand in the doorway, face the gigantic world outside, and be unable to make a single step forward. Leaving hadn't been a problem for any of the others she shared a home with. Antonin disappeared for hours at a time. Other than meals and nights spent lying next to each other, she only rarely saw him seated near the fireplace with one of the books they were allowed to borrow from the Ministry's extensive library. If she tried to sit in the same room with him for the same purpose, he would rise to his feet and leave through the front door. Rain or shine, he would escape. He never had to worry that she would run after him. She was too terrified of the open space.

It was difficult to live in a cottage with another couple who was clearly, and disgustingly, in love. At mealtimes, Hannah and Thorfinn tried to keep their hands to themselves so as not to make their roommates uncomfortable. In the privacy of their own bedroom, however, they didn't worry about how they behaved. Every night and most mornings, sounds not only of their passionate lovemaking, but of their laughter and private conversations, would bleed through the walls into the other bedroom.

Two nights after the bathroom floor incident, Antonin reached across the bed for her when it became impossible to ignore the noise next door. She didn't push him away. Even if they weren't in love, even if they could hardly stand the sight of the other, they could block out the rest of the world for a few pleasure-filled minutes. It became a habit, a pattern each time they couldn't sleep. As they became as familiar of the other's body as they were of their own, they could almost forget. _Almost_.

When each of them found their release, Antonin would climb off the bed and hide in the bathroom, scrubbing his body raw under the stream of the too-hot water he preferred. Hermione didn't blame him for his ritual. What they were being asked to do by the Ministry was unnatural, cruel. How their fellow human beings could justify what they were being forced to do was something she wasn't sure she ever wanted to know or understand. After his long showers, she would pretend that she had fallen asleep in his absence. It was easier that way. For both of them.

After two solid weeks of the program, Hermione woke up feeling better than she had in a very long time. Since before the war. The combination of health potions with actual food and adequate sleep was doing wonders for her recovery. And each morning after breakfast, she'd stand in the doorway and will herself to take a step outside. A few times she'd managed to make it a few meters from the door before she had to turn back around to the security of the small cottage. She sincerely hoped that her fear of open spaces wasn't an affliction that would haunt her for the rest of her life. While no one seemed terribly _happy_ outside in their makeshift village of the damned, she knew the fresh air and exercise was good.

She laced up her shoes and decided that that would be the day. If she could make it out to the gravel path that connected all sixteen of the cottages without bolting back inside, she would consider it a success. Small steps eventually became big steps. Expecting too much of herself wasn't wise.

Antonin sat in his usual spot next to the fireplace with another thick book. As much as he teased her back in Azkaban about her love for reading, he was every bit as guilty. Their eyes met across the room, but neither of them said anything. Whenever they had the chance to speak, they didn't. They focused on speaking with Hannah or Thorfinn instead or they remained silent. Gone was the bickering they used to do in prison when they were bored. Hermione hated to admit that she was beginning to miss it.

Having him staring at her from across the room was the added incentive she needed to finally make it out of the door that day. He was a man who didn't appreciate weakness. If he saw it in her, he wouldn't rest until he berated her for it to his satisfaction. She didn't have the energy to deal with his condescension. Pulling open the front door, Hermione stood in the doorway to survey the outside world. The sun was out and she could almost convince herself that she wasn't still stuck in prison. Taking a deep breath in an effort to calm her racing heart, she took a single step.

Ordinarily, the panic didn't start to fully set in until she'd gone a bit further. Sounds across the common area in the center of the square of cottages echoed throughout the immediate area. Several of the other unfortunate souls involved in the Ministry program were taking advantage of the beautiful day. There was even someone laughing to her surprise. She hadn't felt the urge to laugh about anything for a long time. Even when she made the mirthful sound, it usually wasn't real. Just another act. Just another fake assurance that she was all right when she knew that was far from the truth.

Everyone expected her to be all right. Expected her to be able to brush off the horror of not only the breeding program but five years stuck in Azkaban with no hope at all for a life outside the fortress. Why she wasn't allowed to be flawed and terrified was a mystery. In the two weeks they were on the island, several of her old DA comrades stopped by her cottage to ask her what they were going to do next. Did they seriously expect her to be able to go without using magic for five years and then somehow engineer a plan to get sixty-four half-starved prisoners off of a Ministry-controlled island? What did they think she was going to do? Suddenly learn how to use wandless magic just by thinking it possible? Very few wizards or witches could perform wandless magic and that was usually only after decades of practice. Hermione Granger was not some all-powerful being who could do whatever the hell she damn well pleased. She was human just like the rest of them. It was unfair to put such pressure on her shoulders. No, she didn't have a plan beyond 'have ten children and be let off the island'. Or die trying.

She could feel her breathing become more labored. Her heart was racing. One step out of the door before having a meltdown was hardly a record. It had been a mistake. She wasn't ready. It wasn't safe out there. Something bad would happen if she went any further.

"Would you like to see the ocean?"

Antonin's question startled her enough to keep her from immediately bolting to the safety of their bedroom. They hadn't said a word to each other since the morning after they first arrived. She stared at him over her shoulder with wide eyes, unsure what she wanted to say.

"It's not far. The island isn't very big."

When she still didn't respond, he lowered his voice to a soft whisper.

"You can't stay inside forever, Hermione."

She didn't know where his change of heart was coming from. It seemed so unlike him to treat her with any amount of tenderness. _Outside_ of the bedroom, at least. She'd had the opportunity to learn that while he certainly enjoyed being rough and harsh when it suited him, there were times he preferred to take his time, preferred to _savor_ the experience.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she brought her other foot across the threshold of the cottage. Two deep breaths and two more steps. Antonin closed the door to the cottage behind him and with as solemn an expression as she'd ever seen on his face before, reached for her hand. There was no question if it was all right. He just grabbed it. Hermione was thankful. She wasn't sure her pride would've been up to the task of asking or giving him permission.

The silence that had become so familiar between them returned as they walked behind the cottage and into the trees. He walked with confidence. Considering he usually spent most days completely outside the cottage between mealtimes, she assumed that he had done his fair share of exploring. She had so many questions for him, but each time she tried to ask one, the words caught in her throat.

It still wasn't easy to keep moving forward. Fear raced through Hermione's mind with each step. She had to continually remind herself to take deep breaths. The thick forest surrounding their little village was quite stunning really. Everything was so green. Wild animals continually crossed their path. She could understand why the man still holding her hand was so anxious to walk through the woods. It was so quiet and peaceful. So very different from the hellish prison that had been their home for so long.

"Just a little bit further."

Antonin gently squeezed her hand. Maybe he'd been able to pick up on the panic that was still threatening to come exploding out of every pore of her body. She nodded her head once in response, still not quite able to formulate more than a syllable or two.

When the sounds of the forest began to fall away to the overpowering roar of the ocean waves, Hermione had to force herself to keep going forward. They broke through the trees to one of the most breathtaking beaches she had ever seen. No one else was near. Either they hadn't taken the opportunity to explore as thoroughly as Antonin or they found the ocean every bit as intimidating as she.

"It's so…" She surprised them both by speaking even if the full thought didn't quite make it out of her mouth. Even though she had seen the ocean countless times in her past, she didn't remember how vast it actually was. "… and I'm so small."

He seemed to understand what she was getting at. Instead of insisting that they walk onto the sand and closer to the water, Antonin sat down in the grass on the edge of the beach. Still holding on to her hand, he carefully tugged her down to sit beside him. She sat almost in his lap. Afraid to break any contact, she made certain that her hip was against his hip, her shoulder against his. Neither of them felt the need to speak. The ocean took her very breath away. She couldn't believe she was so close to it again. What had seemed like such an impossibility earlier that morning was a reality.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

 _September 1, 2003_

 ** _Multiple Protests In Front of Ministry of Magic Considered A Security Concern_**

 _At least half a dozen small protests have taken place in and around the Ministry of Magic's London Headquarters since the introduction of Minister Umbridge's plan to correct the magical birth shortage. Though no one has yet been seriously injured in these blatant attacks against our hardworking government officials, the Minister for Magic and her staff have expressed their concerns about their occurrence._

 _"My number one priority has always been to provide a solution to our dwindling magical community," Minister for Magic Dolores Jane Umbridge stated outside of her office Tuesday. "Those who are in direct opposition are clearly simpleminded idiots who do not wish for our society to…"_

* * *

Two months into the program that turned his life upside down, Antonin was settling into some sort of routine. His clothes were fitting tighter on his lean frame. No longer was he the gaunt, starved scarecrow he was when they first arrived. Regular meals and potions had changed him into a version of himself he hadn't seen since before he was chucked away in Azkaban the _first_ time. There were times that he almost felt like he was that same young kid he'd been before the Dark Lord was bested by an infant.

Life in the cottage wasn't always easy. A sort of truce had cropped up between him and the witch that shared his bed. Though he was convinced a day would never come when he actually _liked_ the girl, he was becoming less and less annoyed and frustrated by her presence. There had even been a few times when they were able to laugh with each other. And it wasn't even at the other's expense! They were decidedly small steps towards perfect harmony within their fucked up home and artificial familial unit.

After taking her to the beach, she had been able to leave their house a few times on her own. Never for very long, of course, but it was still progress. She had never asked him to take her back to the beach. Somehow he doubted that she ever would. There was a great deal of pride in her and he suspected that she was embarrassed by the manner in which she clung to him as they sat on the sand and stared out into the ocean. He could understand her fear, how she felt so tiny and insignificant next to the massive body of water. What terrified her beyond measure gave him strength. He felt rejuvenated every time he stared out on the water and realized how tiny and insignificant he was. Funny how everyone was different.

Knowing that she would never ask, he'd been the gentleman and offered. He'd lost count the number of times that they made the same trek to the sand to stare out at the waves. When she was braver, he took her to different parts of the island. Part of the fear she had of the open spaces after so long cooped up in the tiny prison cell that had been her home for several years would always be with her. Just as he still felt the crushing fear of being trapped in tight spaces. Or how he still feared bursts of icy cold air that reminded him too much of dementors. Winter would _never_ be his favorite season. The _moment_ they were released from their prison, he planned on going somewhere it was always warm. South America maybe. Or Africa. Somewhere he didn't have to see snow or feel ice or rain ever again.

They weren't the only couple on the island experiencing problems. Only days after they made their first trip to the beach, he walked in on the Weasley girl visiting Hermione in their living room. Hannah and Thorfinn were nowhere to be found. Either out exploring or sleeping from the exhaustion of their constant and vigorous lovemaking. Antonin rolled his eyes at the thought. It wasn't fair that they were happy when the rest of the prisoners were miserable.

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop. Truthfully, he didn't much care for what her little mates had to say when they came to visit. Too often they came to bother her with questions on how they were going to get off the island like she was some kind of infallible deity with all of the bloody answers to all of the world's fucking problems. He usually had to resist the urge to pick them up by their collars and pitch them out the front door with warnings they'd get worse if they came back. She was always so upset when they left. As much as he might not like the girl, he hated when they made her upset more.

The Weasley girl spoke in hushed tones about her partner in the program. Antonin wasn't surprised to discover that Lucius had not been handling their change in circumstances well. He'd always been a bit weak, too soft. Only his father's wealth kept him out of Azkaban the first time. They were able to grease the right palms to get him off with false claims of being under the Imperius Curse. He was devoted to his wife. While certainly not a bad trait or something to sneer at, his devotion had become a detriment to his survival.

She spoke of how the wizard cried the entire time they were intimate the first time. How she had to practically force herself on him and how it was a tedious, difficult chore for both of them. They were in danger of being unable to fulfill the terms of the program and she was terrified. Antonin felt sympathy for the girl. Redheads had never been to his personal taste, but he imagined the two of them would have much more fun than he was having with Hermione. Maybe they would've even been able to _enjoy_ themselves. Somehow he got the impression that he would never experience that with the bushy haired agoraphobic in bed next to him.

Antonin rolled over to get a look at the woman he was chained to for the next countless years of their lives. She always seemed so peaceful in her sleep, like there were no cares in the world. It was the time he liked her best. Mostly because she didn't speak. He almost wished at times that they could go back to those first two weeks when they didn't talk at all to each other. Yes, it had been awkward, but she didn't annoy him nearly as much.

There had been something different about her in recent days. He couldn't be certain exactly what it was. Something subtle, but still noticeable to the man who had the arduous task of being her partner in the fucked up program designed to steal their future babies. They spent more time with each other than they did with anyone else.

She seemed to tire easily. Most of her days were spent in bed. Worried that she might be ill, he tried to check her temperature with the back of his hand. She'd swatted him away and told him to leave her alone. Despite her repeated assurances that she was perfectly fine, he wasn't convinced. The Healers that had come to examine them after they arrived explained in as few words as possible that it would take some time for the witches to get pregnant. As much as they might have liked it to happen immediately, they didn't expect any of them to get pregnant for at least the first two or three months. Imprisonment and starvation took a lot out of a woman's reproductive system.

Not once had she been sick. He remembered his mum had terrible morning sickness that she claimed couldn't tell time throughout all of the pregnancies she had. Once he got an ex-girlfriend pregnant when they were young and careless. Almost immediately she would throw up any time he even brought up the very _idea_ of meat. Though she ended up miscarrying the baby to their mutual relief, she had been violently ill in the very beginning. But, he was an intelligent enough man to understand that not every woman experienced the exact same symptoms as other women when they were pregnant.

Much was always made about a Mother's magic. Antonin knew that a Father's magic was just as powerful in a different way. It took them both to create a baby capable of producing magic. To ignore the contribution of the wizard wasn't always fair, but it happened frequently. Careful to not wake her up, he reached across the bed to place his hand on her stomach. Though it hadn't changed much since she was allowed to have three meals a day, he wanted to feel it.

He could feel the additional heartbeat with his hand. The magic that the child inside the woman next to him was alerting its father to their presence. He didn't know much about Muggles and how they knew they were pregnant, but with witches and wizards, it was almost always the father that knew first. He could usually sense a new life within his witch's womb.

It should have been a joyful time. It _should_ have been a time that he was anxious to wake her up to give her the news that they were expanding their family. No matter how unplanned pregnancies were, they _usually_ were wanted. In a perfect world, he would shake her awake with a bright smile on his face to tell her how their lives were about to change for the better. As much of a cold, dangerous man as he was purported to be, even he had dreamed of a moment similar to the one he was experiencing. Children were blessings. They were proof that the entire world wasn't shite and there was goodness in it.

He didn't wake the witch. Any news he gave her wouldn't be met with cheerful tears and excited whispers about the future. She would know soon enough that she was carrying a child that would one day be ripped from her arms and given away without her permission. Antonin let her sleep just a little longer with her ignorance of the coming storm.

* * *

The next morning came quickly, long before he was ready for it. Antonin knew that he couldn't keep the secret much longer. It was wrong to hold back such personal information. If there was one person alive who deserved to know, it was the woman who was actually carrying the baby. As terrified and angry as he was about the situation, at least he knew it meant they were one step closer to their eventual freedom. He hoped she would feel similarly.

Resolved to steal a private moment with her after breakfast, Antonin picked at his eggs with an uncharacteristic lack of appetite. When they first arrived and began to be regularly fed, he made a promise to himself that he would eat every single morsel placed in front of him whether he was hungry or not. The idea of his body, which had always been on the leaner side, ballooning up until he was fat amused him more than he was willing to admit. What was the point in keeping fit anyway? He had no battles to fight, no women to woo.

"What's wrong with you?"

The shrill resonance from the witch on his right made Antonin forget all about how he was planning on gently breaking her the news of her pregnancy when they were alone. Thanks to the rudeness of her tone, he considered blurting out his suspicions in front of the the other couple just to make her angry. She wouldn't appreciate her privacy being violated like that. But, his good sense prevailed. He didn't want to start another argument. They'd had enough of those since they started talking again. If they were able to make it through the entire program without murdering the other, it would be a miracle.

" _Nothing_ is wrong with me."

She wasn't convinced. Just as he prepared himself for the onslaught of never-ending words from the obnoxious chit's mouth, the front door to the cottage opened abruptly. All four of the residents were seated at the table and no one in their fucked up village just barged into another's cottage without knocking. They might have been prisoners, but they still had some manners. Antonin spun around in his chair to tell whomever it was to fuck off over his shoulder.

The words caught in his throat. Three wizards and one witch dressed in official robes with the Ministry's insignia stood in their doorway. Two Aurors and two Healers, if he had to guess. Immediately, they began barking orders. Hannah and Hermione were to go immediately into their respective bedrooms alone. Thorfinn rose to his feet prepared to physically fight anyone who forced his witch out of his sight. Two wands in his face and a gentle touch of Hannah's hand on his cheek was necessary before he calmed.

Antonin could understand the other wizard's frustration. Knowing that Hermione was carrying his child put him especially on edge. The wizard and the witch dressed in the Healers' robes disappeared into his bedroom only moments after Hermione. One of the Aurors entered the room leaving the other outside with the prospective fathers-to-be in his sights.

In the exact opposite manner than it had the night before, time passed so slowly that he feared he was in danger of losing his sense of reality. Though he'd had years to perfect sitting patiently and waiting, he was frustrated. If the Auror didn't have his wand held in front of his body daring the two criminals to attack, Antonin might have even thrown open the door to find out what was happening.

It wasn't unexpected to have Healers visit their cottages. Some warning would have been nice. Just one more reminder that they weren't free. Barging into someone's home without invitation or warning could get them killed or at least jinxed on the mainland. No one from the outside world had come by the island since they arrived. If the house-elves enslaved by the Ministry hadn't been arriving dutifully with their meals three times a day, he would have been tempted to believe that they had been forgotten by society at large.

After an eternity, the door to his bedroom opened up again to allow the pompous Healer out. The witch, clearly his much younger assistant, lingered behind for several moments to speak in hushed tones with Hermione. From the crack in the door Antonin could see that she was crying. There was kindness in the witch with the long, blonde curls. A pat on Hermione's cheek with her palm and then a short hug from the Assistant Healer seemed to help calm her just a bit.

"Healer Clearwater, I'm waiting!"

It wasn't difficult to decide that he detested the main Healer in charge of the care of the women. The young Assistant Healer rushed out of their bedroom to meet her boss in Hannah's room. Antonin caught her blue eyes with his for the briefest of seconds. They were watery and on the verge of overflowing. The girl would need to get over her emotions if she was planning on making it long in the position she had.

He considered remaining outside with Thorfinn to help keep him calm. It was bad enough for him with Hermione and he didn't even _like_ the girl. What kind of fear Thorfinn must have been experiencing had to have been much worse with his obvious love for his witch. Deciding that he could handle himself, Antonin left him to enter his bedroom.

Hermione lay on top of the blankets on their bed with her unfocused eyes staring at the window. She had been crying. Her left hand rested on her still-flat stomach. There was no question that she knew about her pregnancy. Imagining how gruff and uncaring the Healer had to have been when he delivered the news made him want to go next door and kill the cretin with his bare hands.

"Hermione?"

"I'm pregnant."

He sat on the edge of the bed. She didn't even blink or look up.

"I know. Last night, I could… I could feel it."

She turned her eyes from the window to look up into his. Anger and sadness welled up within her to the point he worried they would both drown. This was what they were _supposed_ to be doing. They knew that this day would come. Why was it so much harder than they dreamed?

"I thought I might be a couple of days ago, but I didn't want to know."

Before he could say another word or even reach out to brush away some of the tears that were falling freely from her eyes, Hermione rolled over on the mattress to get off the bed. She was out the door of their bedroom and through the front door moments later. Worried that she was going to run off and do something foolish, Antonin rose to his feet to follow. A flash in front of the window stopped him from going any further.

She was sobbing in the street. The Weasley arsehole, the one who was forced to bed his own brother's wife, wrapped his arms around her back to pull her shaking frame against his. Wanting to place his hands around the wizard's throat, he exited his bedroom with a fury and rage consuming him. They might not even like each other, but that was _his_ witch carrying _his_ child. What right did he have comforting her? That was _his_ job.

Antonin crashed into the Assistant Healer in his haste. Frazzled by the interaction, she patted at her hair and pulled on the lapels of her robe. He muttered out an apology. She smiled nervously and assured him that no harm was done. It was a foolish woman that wasn't unnerved by finding themselves in his presence. At least she was beginning to show some sense.

"Everything looks all right with Hermione's pregnancy. I mean, with Prisoner 923's pregnancy."

He didn't expect to get any information from an official with the Ministry breeding program. Based on the low tone she used, the Healer wasn't expecting to tell him either. Already gone further than she was likely allowed, she stepped closer and lowered her voice further.

"She's going to be just fine, Mr. Dolohov. They _both_ are. I promise."

Her announcement and the small, friendly smile she granted him were enough to _almost_ drag a smile out of him. Clearing his throat, he nodded his head once. Hermione reentered the cottage moments after the Aurors and Healers exited. She spent the rest of the day in bed. He spent the rest of the day walking up and down the beach.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

 _January 13, 2004_

 ** _Minister Umbridge Encourages Her Fellow Ministry Officials to Adopt_**

 _Believing that everyone within the Ministry of Magic is responsible for helping to ensure that their controversial adoption program is a success, Minister Dolores Umbridge released a statement encouraging all who were able and gainfully employed with the Ministry to sign up to adopt their own child. Facing down critics who have been vocal about their concerns that such a breeding program is unethical, she called upon others who shared her opinion that what they were doing was for the benefit of our society to take the next step forward._

 _"Everyone who can afford to do so should apply to take in a child. I, myself, have been considering…"_

* * *

Watching the witch who shared his bed rapidly expand with his child brought Antonin no sense of ease or joy. For months he'd watched the development with a churning in his guts. Never had he felt more helpless than in the quiet moments he could stare at her while she slept. She didn't allow him to linger his gaze on her when she was awake. Each time she caught him staring, she would make a rude remark and leave the room.

She hadn't yet gotten over her fear of being outside. If she was honest with herself, which he knew she wasn't, she might actually come to understand that that was an issue she would always face. Even if she could force herself out in the open, the dread and the fear would still be choking within her. Everyone who spent any length of time at all in Azkaban knew they would not leave the same person. Just as Hermione feared being outside in the vast world that felt too big for her, Antonin feared being stuck in small spaces he couldn't escape. He spent every moment he could outside while she did the exact opposite.

Because of her phobia, it was never difficult to find her again when she stormed off in a huff. Not only were her movements slower because of the advanced stages of her first pregnancy, but her fear always brought her back inside. Knowing that continuing his examination of her would only cause the already high tensions in the cottage to rise even higher, he saved his looks for the privacy of their bedroom when she was completely unaware.

The growing of her belly represented their one chance at freedom… and a loss that was still unimaginable. When the time came, _how_ would they be able to hand their babies, their own flesh and blood, over to those who hated them? They might never see their children again. Even if they completed the program's unnatural expectations and were actually granted parole, there was no guarantee that they would ever be able to find their children. Also, they had to deal with the certainty that their adoptive parents would be protective enough to want to keep their children's criminal biological parents as far away as possible. It was the price they had to pay for their freedom. Even if it was barbaric and they hated it, there really wasn't much they could do.

A rumbling had begun amongst the inmates once the numerous pregnancies throughout the village were confirmed. How could they stop the Ministry from stealing their babies? In all of the couples forced to breed together, only a handful had been able to find any joy together. Thorfinn and Hannah were liable to make even the strongest stomach sick up their contents. Antonin envied them until his chest hurt. Others, like Rodolphus and the Lovegood girl, had discovered a mutual affection that made the whole program easier to endure and much, much harder.

Those blessed few couples that could see a future together beyond the walls of their current prison were anxious to figure out a way to keep their fucked up family units together. They spoke in hushed whispers about how they were going to revolt at the first stolen baby. _Naïve, lovesick fools, the lot of them._ What kind of resistance would they possibly create? They were alone on a heavily warded island with no wands or access to weapons. Wandless magic was a fantasy. Only a few were capable of performing even the most basic spells and it literally took _decades_ of careful study and practice to improve. Besides, what little magic they still had was so buried deep inside of them thanks to magical suppression wards in both Azkaban and the island that most of them were going to have to relearn the basics when they were finally handed a wand.

Clearly, they were allowing their emotions to get the better of them. Any amount of resistance to the program they all signed up for would only result in them being thrown back in Azkaban with no hope of ever being let out again. To jeopardize their one chance for freedom was foolish. They weren't thinking logically. Relying solely on emotion never got anyone anywhere. As tempting as it might be to fight against the theft of their children, they were completely powerless.

He ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that liked to continually point out he was jealous of what the others found. Perhaps if there was the slightest bit of affection between he and the girl carrying his child he might have felt differently. Maybe he would be one of the vocal ones trying to figure out a way to save their children from being stolen. Fatherhood had always been a dream that he wished for, but never expected. In the ignorance of his youth, he assumed that when he became a father he would be married to, or at least in love with, the mother. Not once did he imagine the possibility that he would be where he was.

Their feelings for each other hadn't improved with the impending birth of their child. If anything, the physical evidence of the deeds they'd committed in the privacy of their own bedroom and bathroom only served to make their limited conversations and interactions worse. The day he took her to the beach for the first time and she'd clung to him, he'd assumed that that would mark the beginning of a difference in their relationship. He highly doubted they would ever love each other like Thorfinn and Hannah. They were too different, too broken to even imagine such a thing. A friendship wasn't too much to hope for. If they couldn't love each other, just being able to lay in bed with the other to have long conversations or to simply be able to enjoy the other's company would have been nice.

But, to his regret, nothing came of the day at the beach. Though he'd been able to take her several more times and she allowed him to walk with her around the village when she needed the exercise, they may as well have been strangers. As it was his child and she was his responsibility, he still felt it his solemn duty to protect and care for her. Even if they couldn't stand the sight of each other, she was as close to his wife as he was likely to ever get.

* * *

The cottage was becoming more of a prison to Hermione than her cell in Azkaban ever was. Trapped in the fortress, she had no hopes for ever leaving the small space she spent every single moment inside. Unlike Muggle prisons, there was never an opportunity to walk outside or even around an indoor walking track. The Ministry didn't see a reason for letting the prisoners out of their cells for any reason at all. Humanity was stripped from every person damned to spend a single moment inside.

Others took advantage of the relative freedom to move about the island as they pleased. Half the time she never knew were Antonin was and she didn't care. Life was easier when he wasn't hovering around her, staring like she might erupt into flames or suddenly sprout another head. She could understand his concern about her well-being. After all, without her he would be back in Azkaban with no hope of parole. They were each other's only opportunity for freedom. But, that didn't mean she cared for all of the attention.

It was more difficult to ignore the severity of the situation they were in when he kept bringing attention to it. A time would come very soon, only weeks away really, where she would go into labor and the child she carried would be taken away. If she was ever able to see it again, she'd be amazed. The dreadful Healer who attended the birth likely wouldn't even let her hold it first. Perhaps that was for the best.

As difficult as it was her to leave the safety of the cottage, Hermione forced herself to go outside when she could. Not only was it proving to herself that she _could_ face her fear, it gave her the opportunity to stretch her legs and fill her lungs with fresh air. Staying in bed constantly lamenting her lot in life wasn't healthy for her mental state of mind.

A terrible side-effect of walking outside meant she often came into contact with the other residents. Most of the visits to her cottage where she was asked to figure out what they were all going to do next or how they were going to leave the island were stopped by the presence of an overprotective Antonin. Though she would never come right out and admit it to him, she was grateful. _Why_ did everyone assume she had all of the answers? And _why_ did they think she somehow had all of this miraculous power that could get them out of any fix? Who was responsible for spreading such unrealistic tales? She was only one person, a person who spent five years in prison unable to perform any magic at all. How could it be possible for her to save everyone when the enemy was the full might of the Ministry of Magic?

Stepping outside meant she was forced to be in contact with those simpletons who still imagined she had supernatural abilities. If she ever discovered who started the whole "Hermione knows _all_ of the answers to every single problem and _always_ has a plan" rubbish, she was going to take great joy in causing them tremendous physical pain. She was merely a person scared and trying to make it through an impossible program for the hope of a freedom outside Azkaban. Because every single witch on the island was in some stage of pregnancy thanks to the damned potions the Ministry made them consume with every meal, there were more than a few expectant mothers demanding her to tell them what they were going to do to keep their babies.

Hermione's only plan was to not look at her child before it was taken from her. Somehow it seemed like it would be easier if she just didn't know what they looked like. Make it less real perhaps. Beyond that, no, she didn't have an idea how they could rise up and fight to keep their children. It wasn't as if they asked for this or _wanted_ to have children with their assigned breeding partners. Many nights she lay awake with Antonin asleep next to her wishing she was back in Azkaban instead.

She knew there were several who thought her a coward for not wanting to fight. No, she wasn't. She just saw no value in fighting a war that was already lost. Resisting could get them removed from the program. Then where would they be? Their babies would _still_ be taken from them and they would have no hope of ever being free agin. What kind of idiot would fight against such a powerful entity with zero weapons? It was asinine. The only propsct they had for a life outside of prison was to continue with the program no matter how unpalatable it had already become.

On a chilly February morning, she couldn't bear to spend another second inside the cottage. As the temperatures dropped and the cold wind blew off the tumultuous ocean, most residents were staying inside out of the elements. That had been her initial plan too until she stepped out of her shared bedroom to find Thorfinn and Hannah actually _snuggling_ in front of the fire. He was whispering soft words she was glad she couldn't hear and tenderly rubbing the swell of her own pronounced belly. Though there was a hint of bittersweet emotions coloring their faces, there was also a desire, a love that Hermione couldn't comprehend. If the world had been different, been kinder, this scene might had filled her with joy for her friends twinged with just the tiniest bit of jealousy. She certainly couldn't imagine Antonin gently caressing her belly while he whispered words of love and affirmation. She didn't want him to.

When she turned back to return to her room feeling like an intruder witnessing a private moment she had no right to, she ran straight into Antonin on his way to take a shower. Her balance had been off for awhile. His hands reached out to catch her before she fell. Momentarily grateful for the assistance, she started to thank him until she realized he was standing in the middle of their bedroom completely naked. Wrenching her arms out of his careful grip, she spun back around.

"Do you have no decency at all?"

The wizard wasn't in the mood for a row. Close quarters meant she was becoming a veritable expert on the man's moods. She knew half the reason he chose to leave his dirty clothes in the bedroom before he walked into the bathroom was to make her uncomfortable. When she would complain, he'd smirk and make reference to the dozens of other times she'd had no problems with him being naked. That day, however, he merely sighed and disappeared into the bathroom without saying a single word.

Antonin always lingered a long time underneath the hot spray of the shower, but she didn't want to still be there when he got out. With nowhere else to go, she knew that she would have to be brave enough to go outside on her own. Bundling up in a winter coat provided by the _magnanimity_ of the Ministry, she rushed out the door, ignoring the scene still taking place on the sofa on her way out. She had the front door open and her body through it before she even felt the faintest twinge of fear.

No one else seemed to be out. When the weather was nicer, the village rang with the sounds of conversation. Sometimes there was laughter, but as the reality of their situation grew more present, much of that had ceased. The Ministry, no doubt, was busy patting themselves on the back that they'd been successful in getting every single unfortunate witch on the island impregnated. For some, especially the witches who were a bit older, it had taken a bit longer for conception. A few of the women had even been unlucky enough to endure the pain of a miscarriage before success. There had been a great deal of fear that those women would be discovered to be unsuitable for the program. Thankfully, each of them were eventually able to move past that heartbreak. The first witches, of which Hermione was one, would be due to give birth in the very near future. As the inevitable day when the first baby would be whisked away from their biological parents to be placed with those who were Ministry-approved, there was less and less to laugh about.

She pushed aside thoughts of that wretched impending day. Each step she took further from the cottage became more difficult. Determined that she was going to make it around the entire square of cottages before she went back inside to hide from the world, Hermione continued walking. One day she hoped to be completely over the anxiety that always plagued her when she was out in the open. How could she ever expect to have any sort of normal life after the program was completed if she couldn't even enjoy the world? Paying careful attention to her breathing, she kept moving.

Charlie Weasley was probably one of the very few people alive on that island that didn't ask her a number of questions she couldn't answer. In fact, he seemed to be content to not talk much at all. For that reason, Hermione felt her lips quirk into a small smile when he fell in step beside her without speaking a single word of greeting. If there was anyone else in the program who wished to spend even less time in their own cottage than she did, it was him. No one was quite sure which of the Weasleys had it worse: the brother forced to breed with his brother's wife or the father forced to breed with his son's fiancée. Sometimes when she started to feel sorry for herself about being paired up with a man who tried to kill her twice and who taunted her for five years, she remembered the poor Weasleys. Not only would Molly be stuck in Azkaban for the rest of her life unless someone in the Ministry decided to have mercy and parole her, they would have countless scars when it was all said and done.

It was easy just to breathe around Charlie. Part of her was sad that she didn't really get to know the man he was before the war changed their lives irrevocably. She remembered bits and pieces of him, but they weren't enough to paint the full picture of the man. War sloughed off the last of his naiveté. Five years in Azkaban hardened him. The island was threatening to break him. How he was going to endure nine more pregnancies was a mystery. Even making it through one seemed like an impossibility at times.

"Shouldn't you be inside with a warm blanket and a boring book?"

He didn't speak until they were already halfway around the square. Caught off guard by his teasing, Hermione snorted. No one had truly teased her in years. Well, no one except Thorfinn, but she didn't count him. She rarely listened to what he said anyway. With Charlie, she didn't always know what to expect. He might not speak at all. Or he might bring up a fascinating fact about dragons she'd never had the opportunity to learn. He might ask her questions about a subject he didn't know much about. If he chose to speak, he used the opportunity to help her forget even for just a moment what inhumanities and indignities they were forced to endure each day. _Never_ did he ask her about her pregnancy, her health, or the state of her relationship with the man she shared a bed with. Out of respect for him, she never asked about his life with Fleur.

"The cottage felt a bit crowded this morning."

"I know what you mean. Cho's been crying and screeching at Wally since dawn. Fleur doesn't leave the bedroom much. I didn't really have anywhere else to go."

It was the first time that he'd ever mentioned anything in detail about Fleur. Ordinarily, he tried to pretend like she didn't exist. If someone asked him a question about her when Hermione was around, he would assiduously avoid answering. Knowing that he was likely ill at ease from mentioning her at all, she made the decision to steer the conversation in a less serious direction. There would be plenty of time later when emotions weren't so raw to come back around to talking about her.

"Does Macnair actually _let_ you call him Wally?"

His smirk brought to mind a naughty child caught doing something he shouldn't have. It made her laugh. Walden Macnair was a formidable wizard who had been known to strike people down for no other reason than he felt like they were disrespecting him. She had no doubt that he didn't appreciate the unseemly moniker.

"He doesn't like it, but he's fairly passive about it. Besides, he's got his hands full with Cho. Not enough time to worry about what I call him."

"Why was Cho 'screeching' at him? Is he awful to her?"

Charlie's scoff and subsequent chuckle surprised her. From the day they were assigned their partners after learning the details of the program, she felt sorry for Cho Chang. Of all of the men available, Hermione would've wanted to be paired up with anyone _but_ Macnair. He had a terrible reputation that had apparently been hard-earned. She could only imagine how cruel he was to Cho in the privacy of their own home. Considering she was almost as pregnant as Hermione, she could only assume that he had been insistent and demanding from the first day of their new captivity.

"Wally treats Cho like the princess she thinks she is. Not a single hair on her head could be harmed without him seeking vengeance. Her problem right now is completely hormonal."

"Of course a man would say that about a pregnant woman."

"In this case, it's true. She cries constantly. I think she was yelling at him this morning because he dared to take too much of the covers last night while they slept. Never mind the fact that he'd give her every single stitch of clothing he had on and go sleep naked in the snow if she asked."

It was difficult believing what Charlie was describing, but she'd never known him to be a man who lied. There was no reason to in this case. Perhaps Walden Macnair was simply taking his duties seriously. An innate need to protect Cho and their unborn child must have changed the man from a disgusting monster into something completely different. It was fascinating to learn how much people could change given the circumstances.

"Whatever it was, it was a ridiculous argument. I'd rather be outside in the freezing cold than in there listening to that."

"Can't say that I blame you."

"Wasn't all bad, I suppose. Didn't expect to find such pleasant company outside."

His cheeky wink made him seem even more like the wizard he once was. The little glimpses of the past were both heartening and heartbreaking. Would any of them ever be able to live a normal life once this program was over? Or, were they all doomed to fail and be chucked back into Azkaban to die miserable and cold? She didn't want to think about the possibilities, not when the morning was shaping up to be so pleasant.

It was only as they made the final turn around the square in the center of the village that she realized she had been able to walk the entire way without being afraid once. Of course, as soon as she started to think over how long she'd been outside and how open and exposed she was, the fear began to creep in, but she was proud of herself. Small steps. Each time she walked outside and wasn't afraid, she was getting better bit by bit.

Charlie stopped in front of her cottage. Maybe he could sense the small bit of bravery she showed that morning was waning or perhaps more likely, he thought she had had enough physical exertion for a woman in her condition. It didn't matter. Thanking him for walking with her, she pushed open the front door with a newfound confidence in herself. Perhaps tomorrow she would try to walk around the square again _twice_.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

 _February 9, 2004_

 ** _First Ministry Baby is Born; Minister Umbridge Welcomes New Son Home_**

 _Despite arriving just a bit earlier than the Healers would have liked, Minister Dolores Umbridge was proud to announce that the first of the 'Ministry Babies' has been born. Following a short stay in St. Mungo's to ensure that the slightly premature infant was healthy and well-cared for, Minister Umbridge set the example that she wants all other eligible Ministry Officials to follow by adopting her new son._

 _"_ _I had not expected to adopt the first blessed child born out of my successful and well-received program, but when the opportunity presented itself, I simply could not say no."_

 _Baby Umbridge, first name still undecided, was brought to his new mummy's home in Hampshire…_

* * *

Every movement that the witch made in their too-small bed kept Antonin awake. There had been a time in his life when he would have found the constant interruptions to his rest distracting and upsetting. In that moment, however, all he felt was concern for the woman lying next to him. He turned on his side to better watch her limited motions. The end of her pregnancy was coming soon, but he wasn't sure when exactly. No matter how many times he asked the Healers questions, they brushed him off as if he was no more than an annoying gnat to be swatted.

It was infuriating to be so easily dismissed. He was not used to that. At least when they were thrown into Azkaban and forgotten, they didn't have to deal with other human beings openly behaving as if they were nothing. They were largely just left alone. To be in the same room with the Healers and the Aurors that protected them and to be ignored was difficult to bear. Did he not have a right to know how his child was developing?

"Except you don't ever hear of a stud being updated on the status of their work, do you?"

He muttered to himself, careful not to wake the woman who was sleeping less and less of late. That's all they were - _breeding stock_. No better than a bull being placed in a pen with a ripe and fecund cow. Perhaps when the child was born and taken away from their heinous excuses for parents it would be treated like an actual human being. He hoped that the mark of being born of their cursed and fucked up union wouldn't create a stigma that they could never escape. The pessimist in him found the hope difficult to put much stock in. What was the point in their even being alive if the society at large wasn't going to treat his children fairly?

Hermione shifted again in a futile effort to find a comfortable position. Once again, for the countless time, Antonin felt completely useless. His part of the process was done, for now. There seemed to be nothing left for him to do but watch and wait. He was not a man that appreciated being pushed into the sidelines. Being a part of the action had been his life before Azkaban. Perhaps, he'd realized in hindsight, his energy could've been better suited in something other than supporting a deranged and deluded Dark Lord, but he couldn't exactly go back in the past to change his choices. If he could, he'd do it in a heartbeat. Maybe he'd even be snuggled up in bed behind his pregnant wife, instead of a scared witch he hardly knew and still didn't like much. His older children could be moments away from rushing in the door to the bedroom to bounce on the bed and wake their parents up. A hint of a smile graced his lips at the fantasy of a life that would never be.

A low groan from the witch shook him out of his daydreaming. Suddenly alert, he scooted up behind her to see if he could discern what her problem was. There was still so much he didn't understand about what was happening to her. Of course he understood the basic biology of the ordeal, but she was just as tight-lipped as the Healers. The further her pregnancy progressed, the less she wanted to speak to the man responsible. He knew it was her own way of trying to distance herself from reality and he couldn't exactly fault her even if it was frustrating. She might have grown up in the same kind of family that he did. No one talked about anything and everyone pretended that was normal. There was still so much that they didn't know about each other, about their pasts. They might have been able to find common ground to work with if they could both keep their tempers under control long enough. Despite knowing that they were stuck on the island for many more years to come, Antonin didn't hold his breath in anticipation that there would ever come a moment when they didn't simply _tolerate_ the other.

"Hermione, are you all right?"

He wouldn't have even bothered to ask her about her state if she hadn't groaned again. The sound of her unsuccessfully trying to hide her tears was something he'd been hearing for years. Even when they lived in cells across the narrow corridor from each other he could always tell when she had been crying. When he was feeling angry and wanted to punish someone else for his pain, he would taunt her and demand she stop annoying everyone in their cellblock. Humiliating her had been one of the few joys he had in those days. Other times, however, when he was feeling melancholy and lonely and like he might want to cry himself, he pretended he couldn't hear what she was doing only feet away.

"I can't get comfortable and my back is killing me."

The fact that she actually admitted to him the truth was surprising. She had become an expert at telling him to bugger off and mind his own business. Just hearing the vulnerability in her words tore at the wizard. No matter his underlying feelings for the creature, he wanted to do _something_ to help alleviate her pain. A gentle rub of her lower back brought out a much different sort of groan. Satisfied that his actions were providing some relief for whatever was ailing the woman, he increased the pressure and didn't stop.

"Thank you."

Her gratitude was spoken in little more than a whisper, but it practically echoed through their quiet room. Few moments in the months since they were released from Azkaban to become part of the hateful breeding program had either of them been very kind to the other. Their frustrations with the impossible situation they were forced into compounded with the extraordinary stresses that befell them each day meant that they were more often than not fairly unpleasant. Before her belly had grown too large to make most positions uncomfortable, they'd been able to work out some of their frustrations between their sheets. There wasn't much else they could do to relieve their continuous stress. Once Hermione entered the last few weeks of her pregnancy, she hadn't wanted him to touch her at all. He'd spent a great deal of that time wandering the island or sitting on the beach staring at the ocean.

"Are you in a lot of pain?"

"Just stiff and sore."

He knew there was more that she wasn't letting on about. Hannah was almost at the exact same point in her pregnancy and she had had only about half the number of Healer visits that Hermione had. Each time the pompous arsehole in charge of the care of the witches in their cottage walked through the front door, Antonin was forced to stand out in the living room waiting for explanations and answers that he knew would never come. Whatever was happening with the witch wasn't serious enough that she had to be taken away from the island, but it was enough to warrant additional exams. Antonin wished that _someone_ would tell him what was happening. Even when he asked Hermione she would just shrug him off.

If something happened to their child, they would be back at the very beginning. As others on the island had already discovered to their pain and sorrow, a lost pregnancy was not counted in the outrageous number of babies they were expected to provide to the Ministry. If Hermione lost the child, they would have to start over, all indignities of the previous months would have been for nothing. And if something were to happen to Hermione, he would be chucked back in Azkaban for the remainder of his natural life. Though it might have been selfish to do so, he had to consider those facts. They needed each other to get through this program if they were going to have any hope of ever getting off of the damned island. Maybe a normal life wasn't in the cards for them even if they dutifully provided ten healthy children to the Ministry, but the hope of the possibility was enough to keep them rooted in place, keep them continuing down the unthinkable road of handing over their babies to those in power.

"I heard Thorfinn and Rodolphus Lestrange whispering the other day."

Antonin rolled his eyes at her confession, but didn't stop rubbing her back. He didn't even need to know what those two were discussing. Each of them had already approached him separately and together. With Hannah close to the end of her term and the Lovegood witch just behind her, the two lovesick wizards had managed to somehow convince themselves that there had to be _something_ they could do to keep the Ministry from stealing their children. A few others around the island were trying to come up with a futile plan to prevent the inevitable from happening. Most, Antonin included, knew there was nothing that could be done. They'd all agreed to this atrocity. Yes, it went against nature, went against the very instincts that their Creator or the Universe or evolution or whatever theory one chose to believe instilled in them. Many nights he stared at Hermione's swelling belly and felt rage at his helplessness. If he could, he would save them from the fate that awaited them all.

But, he was an intelligent man enough to know that there was _nothing_ that could be done. Even with months to recover from near-starvation and lack of basic medical care in the wizarding prison, the inmates were still weak. None of them had been able to use magic for almost six years. Wandless magic was a joke. Only decades of intense practice and study could produce enough power to unlock a door. Unlike the fairy tales would have one believe, they _needed_ their wands to channel their magical energy. Besides, even if it was possible, so many years without having magic would make it damn near impossible for one of them to produce even a flicker of magic on their own. If they were able to steal a wand from the outsiders that periodically came to visit the island, they wouldn't even be able to use it. The damned rings around their wrists weren't just imbued with magic to ensure that the prisoners stayed with their chosen partners. It prevented them from producing _any_ magic except for the most basic of involuntary spells that occurred at the moment of conception to make certain that no undesirable squibs were created. Truthfully, it was a clever use of magic. Someone inside the Ministry must have had a brain after all.

With no magic, no _hope_ of magic, and no way to get off of the island, what could any of them do when the Healers and Aurors came calling? There was only one option - follow through with the damned program. Antonin knew that it was impossible to keep from being forced to lose their children, but maybe, just _maybe_ a day would come when they could find them again. As long as they kept to the guidelines of the program, they were promised freedom. Finding his children then would be his first priority. He would make certain that they were well-cared for and safe. Merlin protect the arseholes if they put his progeny in harm's way. He'd rip their throats out through their stomachs if he discovered any of them had been mistreated. Maybe he wouldn't have the opportunity to be a traditional father, but at least he could do that.

He was worried to discuss the topic of what his fellow Death Eaters were speaking about in whispers with Hermione. If it was difficult enough for him to come to the understanding that he couldn't do anything to prevent his children from being taken from him, how much worse would it be for the witch who actually had to carry the child within her body? She had been feeling it move inside her for months now. What was it going to be like for her to go through the pain and fear of delivery only to have her baby snatched away to be given to some faceless stranger? He feared that Roddy and Thorfinn were giving her false hope. He didn't want to have to be the one to dash her hopes. There was _nothing_ that any of them could do. They were alone and at the mercy of the Ministry of Magic. It was a bitter potion to swallow, but one that they needed to just come to grips with before the child arrived.

"They're all fools."

Her words took him by surprise. Spoken with such conviction, he felt the worry within his gut begin to lessen. It seemed that she was in agreement. Antonin continued rubbing her back in earnest, never pushing her to continue with her thoughts. One lesson he'd learned in their time thrown together in the tiny cottage bedroom - when she was ready to speak, nothing in creation would stop her.

"They think there is some way that we'll be able to fight to keep our babies."

He made a soft sigh to let him know that he was listening, but said nothing in response. Somehow he got the impression that she didn't need any encouragement. When she took a deep breath, he felt a small smile creep up on his lips. The witch did enjoy a good rant now and again.

"I can't imagine what the idiots think they are going to be able to accomplish. What do they plan on doing? Beating the Aurors over the heads with large sticks or big stones when they come to take our babies? Hardly effective against wands. All they will do is get themselves hurt. Probably even thrown out of the program and back into Azkaban. Do they think they'll be able to take their babies with them into their prison cell? Of course not! The Ministry will win. They will take the babies, throw the resisters back in Azkaban, and they will lose any chance they ever had for freedom. There's no fighting this. And I… I don't want to go back to Azkaban, Antonin."

"Neither do I."

She got very quiet for a moment. Even without the benefit of having light in the room, he knew that she was crying. Somehow he always knew.

"Am I a coward for not wanting to fight?"

Her tone was back to that of an emotional whisper. Antonin stopped rubbing her back to wrap his arms around her and to press his body against hers. Some of the tension in her body melted away at the gesture. Though they didn't always see eye to eye about everything, they could have a calming effect on each other when necessary. Hermione took several deep breaths, her tears freely falling down her cheeks.

"Are you a coward for not wanting to fight a battle you will surely lose? Are you a coward for doing what is necessary to keep out of prison and one day be free? Absolutely not, Hermione. You are being strong. One day, we will get off of this island. We will get off of it and go find our children together, but we won't be able to do that stuck in Azkaban."

"' _Together_?'"

"Of course 'together'."

Antonin slid his hand over her large belly to rest right above where he knew his child was. There had only been a few times over the course of her pregnancy that she'd allowed him to touch her there. Despite having touched every other part of her body, most even with his lips, she usually pushed him away when he tried to feel where their baby was growing. Even without admitting so out loud he knew that she felt a touch like that was more intimate than she was comfortable with. Yet one more time in the months since they were damned to the island, he lamented the fact that this pregnancy, and surely the others that would follow, would never be like what he could have expected if they were truly married and in love. This was nothing more than a perfunctory duty performed for their eventual freedom. He had no reason to delude himself into believing it was more than that.

"Can we go for a walk outside? Maybe that will make me tired enough that I can go back to sleep."

He agreed. Though likely to be chilly, the weather was clear and dry for the moment. Everyone else in the village was surely asleep. One quick turn around the square of cottages and maybe they'd both be ready to sleep again. Releasing his grip on the witch, Antonin carefully removed himself from the bed to find something warmer to put on for their walk.

Hermione's movements had grown quite heavy and slow in recent weeks. Another reason that Antonin was worried that she wasn't telling him everything about her pregnancy was the fact that she spent much of her time in bed. When she ventured out, it was only short distances and never for very long. He didn't have to have a lot of experience with pregnant women to understand that she wasn't nearly as active as Hannah or the other women around the island. He watched her rise gingerly from the bed from the corner of his eye, ready to catch her if she fell.

Two steps away from the bed and a deep groan of pain startled him. Forgetting what he was doing, Antonin rushed to her side of the bed. Hermione, still on her feet with her teeth clenched, white-knuckle fisted the comforter on the bed with both hands. Her eyes were closed and she was holding her breath. Uncaring that she was likely just going to push him away, he reached out to touch her shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

"Something's wrong."

He didn't even wait for an explanation. With the sound of her repeating over and over again 'It's too early', Antonin ran to the living room. A single pinch of Floo powder from the pot next to the fire that was only to be used in case of emergency was thrown into the flames. The disinterested face of a bored witch appeared in the fireplace moments later to demand what it was that he needed.

"There's something wrong. Send the Healers!"

If he wasn't so terribly worried about the witch in the bedroom trying her hardest not to show she was frightened, he might have been tempted to kick his bare foot into the flames straight into the face of the other wretched witch. She rolled her eyes before assuring him that someone would be there shortly and swiftly disappearing. He ignored the concerned inquiries from a sleepy Hannah who had just stepped out of her bedroom. His only thought was getting back to Hermione's side.

It was a mark of how frightened Hermione really was that she didn't immediately squirm out of his touch. When he stood next to the witch still bent over the side of the bed and placed his hands on her shoulders, she didn't even seem to remember that usually she brushed him off. She was biting her bottom lip with her eyes closed. He was all too familiar with the look of one who was in a great deal of pain, but trying desperately not to make a sound. Antonin gently squeezed her shoulder.

"Breathe, Hermione. You're going to pass out if you don't."

She evidently found the merit in his words. Almost in the next moment she was exhaling her held breath and taking in another. Though he could feel the presence of Thorfinn and Hannah just feet away in the doorway to their bedroom, Antonin paid them no mind. His only thoughts were of the witch carrying his child. For the first time, he found it surprising that he wasn't as concerned about the health of the baby as he was for the woman next to him. Later he would justify it as simply being because she was his one hope for someday getting off of that island. It had nothing to do with any sort of affection.

"Out of the way! Get back to your own room!"

The bellowed orders from the pompous arsehole in charge of Hermione's care broke the spell of the moment. Antonin turned to see a small army outside their bedroom. Not only the Healers and Aurors he was accustomed to seeing either. A couple carried large cameras and others held notebooks in their hands. Clearly, the press had been roused for the event. He felt an overwhelming desire to strangle each and every one of them with his bare hands.

"And keep them warded in their room until I say otherwise."

Antonin loathed and despised the main Healer more than anyone else he'd ever come into contact with, but in that moment, he had to trust that he would do what was necessary to make certain Hermione would be all right. It pained him to hear the witch cry out in protest when her partner in the damned program was forcibly dragged away from her side by two aurors. The instinct to fight his removal from the room was strong, but he was intelligent enough to understand that there was no point. Only Penelope Clearwater's sad, worried eyes meeting his as he was pulled away offered him any measure of calm. If he struggled, there was a very real possibility that the Healer Trainee would be harmed in the process. He couldn't bear to think of the kind witch getting hurt. It was enough to steady his nerves.

The door slamming shut to his bedroom seemed to echo in Antonin's rattled mind. He knew it was foolish to imagine that he would be allowed to be there when his child was born, as it was evident that was what was happening, but part of him still longed to kick down the door and kill anyone who kept him from his goal. Two Aurors blocked the way. Each of them stared him down with furious glares of pure hatred. He could do nothing but walk away and hope that everything was all right in the next room.

"Seems like a waste of time to make us travel all the way here in the middle of the night for a delivery that will probably last for hours."

"No, not nearly that long. This particular case isn't like the others. High risk or some such nonsense. They'll likely have to actually _cut_ the baby out."

"That's positively barbaric! Must be because of the Muggle blood."

"Ahh, yes. Many of them actually _die_ in childbirth. Can you believe that? And we're supposed to believe that they're somehow advanced? Animals, the lot of them."

"It would be a bloody shame if the first birth of the program resulted in the mother's death, but can you imagine the headlines? Might even give some of the naysayers about the Minister's program even more to go on about."

"It would certainly boost sales of the papers."

Antonin could hardly believe what he was hearing from the journalists happily making themselves at home on the furniture in the living room. Had they no compassion? It was the first he was hearing that there was a potential for complications. He had certainly never been told that her pregnancy was considered 'high-risk'. Hermione told him nothing. He vowed that if… no, _when_ this first delivery was over and they started looking to their second, he would _not_ be kept out of the circle of knowledge. It was unfair. He had just as much a right to know what was happening.

There was no definitive way to tell time in the cottage. Maybe it was another way that the Ministry felt it could control its inmates. He never cared much for the reasons. All it took was a single step outside and he could usually get the approximate hour of the day just from the position of the sun. Standing just feet from the door out of the grasp of the Aurors, he didn't need to know. Minutes might have passed or even hours. He'd figured out early on how to completely tune out the conversations of the hideous journalists and their photographers. How any such supposedly compassionate humans could speak about such a delicate topic in such a horrible way was beyond him. Even an old Death Eater had more respect than the likes of them.

He wished that someone would give him an update, but he knew not to hold his breath in anticipation. Just as a stallion wasn't informed on how his mare was faring, he knew that there would be no answers. If anyone even bothered to tell him whether it was a girl or a boy, he would be surprised. Breeding stock weren't important enough. Not having any answers didn't make him worry any less. Sound-dampening spells had been employed. He could feel them and that part of the cottage had never been so eerily quiet.

And just as swiftly as the door was slammed shut in his face, it was opened again. The Healer, proud of himself for what he'd accomplished, carried a small bundle of blankets in his arms. Before Antonin could get more than just a glance at it, an Auror pushed him away. The journalists and photographers rushed after the Healer further pushing him away. Each of the Aurors assigned to the odious task of being present stepped in front of the inmate, blocking his view of everything happening and preventing him from interfering.

"The Minister will be pleased to learn the first baby has been born. Follow me to St. Mungo's and I will be glad to give you a full report."

Antonin would never be sorry to see the atrocious Healer leave, but watching him carry his child away threatened to tear his heart completely out of his body. He had always known it was going to be hard. Knowing and experiencing were two completely different things. If it was as bad as it was for him, what must Hermione be experiencing? When the sound of the Healer's voice dissipated into the early morning air, he wanted nothing more than to rush to the witch. Only the Aurors still present kept him rooted in his spot.

"You are free to go."

Penelope Clearwater's orders to the Aurors left no room for argument. Not that they were inclined to argue as it was. Each of the men turned to give one last glare to Antonin before following the rest of the party outside. When one posed the concern about leaving her alone with the dangerous criminal, she brushed him off with the promise that she would be all right and would only be a minute. She granted Antonin a small smile while she waited for the Aurors to leave.

"Hermione did very well. Both she and the little boy are perfectly fine."

His shoulders slumped with the relief of her words. He hadn't realized until that moment how much tension he was carrying in his body. The feel of Penelope's small hand gently squeezing his elbow startled him. He hadn't experienced such kindness in longer than he wanted to consider.

"Your son is a little small. It's to be expected because he's early, but he's all right. We're taking him to St. Mungo's to make sure he has everything he needs. Hermione is sleeping. She did very well. Much better than we even expected. She's going to need to rest for the next several days. I've left some instructions for her next to your bed. I'll be back in a couple of days to check on her progress."

"Thank you."

He didn't expect anyone to tell him anything. He certainly didn't expect her to take the time to put his worries and fears to rest. With another smile, Penelope squeezed his elbow once more before taking her hand back. Antonin wished there was something he could do to repay her for the kindness she had shown them both. It couldn't have been easy considering the arsehole she was forced to work with. As the Healer Trainee began her walk to the front door, she stopped and turned to look at him over her shoulder.

"Antonin, I'd recommend keeping the newspapers away from Hermione for the next few days. I'm not sure that… well, I'm not sure she's going to want to read what's in them."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

 _February 15, 2004_

 ** _Minister Dolores Umbridge Throws Party to Celebrate Son; Announces Name_**

 _Every witch and wizard with any amount of influence was present at the reception honoring the Minister for Magic's new son last evening. Celebrating the apparent success of the Azkaban Inmate Breeding Initiative, Minister Umbridge proudly introduced her new son to the very society she hopes he will one day be a productive member of. Little Henry Selwyn Umbridge was the very first of the babies born from the Minister's rather controversial program. Remaining mum on just which of the infamous inmates were responsible for his existence…_

* * *

There was no other reason for the latest edition of the Daily Prophet to arrive in an envelope marked with Hermione's name on it than just for pure cruelty. Less than a week after giving birth to her first child in a labor that Penelope Clearwater kindly and gently described as being 'abnormal' and 'a trifle concerning', the witch was finally allowed out of her bed for longer than a few minutes each day. She had her first meal with the other inhabitants of the cottage since the early morning when her son came too early. Very few words were spoken over that meal. No one quite knew what to say. Theirs was a new reality that no one was quite prepared for.

Frustrated and uncomfortable, Antonin rose from the table the very second the last morsel of his breakfast landed on his tongue. He was out the front door long before anyone could ask him where he was headed. Not that Hermione minded. It was easier when he was away. They had hardly spoken three words to each other since their first child was kidnapped by the Ministry of Magic. Both of them felt completely helpless. Speaking about it wouldn't change the past. When they were alone, they went back to ignoring the other's existence. Even with potions designed to speed up the healing process, it would still be four weeks before they were ready to try again to create their second baby for the damned program. Perhaps by then they would be able to speak to each other again.

She was startled by the owl tapping at the front window. In the months that they'd been stuck on the island, none of them had received a single letter. Any official communication regarding the program and their roles in it were delivered by the house-elves responsible for bringing them their meals and potions three times a day. Thorfinn was kind enough to open the window to fetch the envelope. Offering the tired animal a bite of his toast in thanks for a delivery well done, he untied the missive from the animal's leg and handed it to Hermione.

The handwriting on the outside of the envelope was unfamiliar and she didn't have the first clue who would be sending her post. Every single person she knew and cared about, with the exception of her Muggle parents still hopefully alive and well in Australia, was either dead or trapped on the same damned island she was. Nervous about opening the envelope, she stared at it for several seconds before she had the courage to break the seal. Only a single copy of the front page of that morning's Daily Prophet fell out onto the table. Hermione hadn't seen a copy of the paper since before she went into early labor. She got the impression that Antonin was keeping the news from her. One glance at the headline and she understood why. Tears formed at the corner of her eyes. Uncaring that both Hannah and Thorfinn were staring, she scanned the scrap of paper until she found the short note handwritten next to the article announcing _her_ son's name.

 _You know, I do believe he has his father's eyes and your nose. Such a pity. - Dolores_

Despite knowing that they were curious about what she received, Hermione didn't show it to Thorfinn or Hannah. Crumpling up the dreadful newspaper in one hand, she ignored the rest of her breakfast to run into the safety of her bedroom. She threw herself down on the bed and gave over to the tears already leaking out of her eyes. Never had she felt so powerless in her entire life. Not even the moment she watched that awful Healer carry her son away without even allowing her a chance to see his face. For months he grew inside _her_ body and they couldn't even be bothered to let her have a single glance.

What game was that horrid cow playing? Antonin's not-so-subtle efforts at keeping the newspapers away from her made sense. She wondered how long he knew. Was he even going to tell her? If Umbridge hadn't decided to taunt her specifically, would he have eventually told her that _their_ son was adopted by the witch who hated her most in the world? It was all so unbelievably fucked up that she struggled to wrap her mind around what was happening. All she could do was lay on the bed with the bitch's hateful words in her hand and cry. Would she always be so pathetic and helpless?

"Hermione?"

She groaned when she heard _his_ voice. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? No doubt one of the members of the happy couple next door went in search of him as soon as she dramatically left the room. She loathed the fact that a Death Eater, one that she despised, was somehow responsible for her well-being. Whatever Antonin did wasn't out of the kindness of his heart or because he miraculously developed some measure of affection for her over the five years they had cells across the corridor from each other. Even in spite of the fact that they'd found comfort in each other in the darkness of their shared bed in the months since they'd been abandoned on their new island prison, didn't mean that she wanted him anywhere near her. Especially not when she felt so vulnerable and lost.

Anyone else would have taken her groan and her lack of response as a sign that she wanted to be left alone. Either the wizard was daft or he'd lost all of his social graces being stuck in the service of his Dark Lord. When she felt the edge of the mattress dip down where he sat, she felt the urge to push him to the floor with her hands. If she thought she could manage it in her weakened state, she would've tried.

"Hannah is concerned about you. Said that you got a letter. Was it bad news?"

Part of her longed to shout out a petulant answer accusing him of not actually caring why she was upset, but she couldn't. No matter how angry she was about the entire fucked up breeding program and the fact that she was paired with the absolute worst wizard imaginable, it was still _his_ son. He had every right to know what the Minister for Magic was up to. Even if he already knew she'd adopted their son, as she suspected, he deserved to know that the horrible woman was taunting them. She opened her fist, offering the parchment for him to read. Within moments of hearing the sound of him smoothing out the crumpled article, she heard him start to rip it into pieces

"Stop!"

Hermione sat up and tried to grab the pieces out of his hands. As much as she might have hated the handwritten note, there _was_ a picture of their son on it. Small and hardly visible due to the heavy blanket he was wrapped in, she couldn't bear for the only image they had of their son to be destroyed. Antonin returned the damaged parchment, his jaw clenched and his complexion bright red in his fury. She thought she saw unshed tears in his dark brown eyes, but that wasn't possible. Monsters like him didn't have the capacity to feel human emotions.

She smoothed down the remaining part of the picture that showed where their son was being held by his new adoptive mother. Carefully ripping the parchment around the image, Hermione tried her best to remove all traces of Umbridge. When all that was left was a tiny piece of the original picture and nothing of the hateful taunting message, she stared at the small baby. She couldn't tell for herself if he had Antonin's eyes or her nose. There wasn't even enough of the picture left to see what color his hair was or if he even had hair. No parents should ever have to see their child for the first time in a ripped piece of newspaper. What other cruelties were they going to be forced to endure before it was all over?

"You knew she had him, didn't you?"  
His only response was to nod his head and sigh. There was so much emotion in the room it was choking. How were they supposed to endure this _nine_ more times? They would each go completely mad before it was all said and done. Perhaps that had been the plan all along. There was never any intention to release sixty-four so-called 'dangerous' criminals back into their society again. The Ministry was banking on the fact that some of them would die in the process. Or they would beg to quit when the pain of their loss grew to be too much. Maybe they even hoped that by putting homicidal Death Eaters with those who were little more than children when they were arrested they would kill their partners. If it was even possible for one couple amongst the thirty-two to complete the rigorous demands of the impossible program, Hermione would be surprised. It was too much to ask anyone.

"She's going to warp his mind. Turn him against us."

He couldn't argue with her. It was the truth. There was no other reason for Umbridge to claim their child than to be extra cruel. She never would've guessed that a single person could be so evil. Clearly, she would never forgive Hermione for the day she led her into the path of the centaurs. Maybe she didn't deserve to be forgiven, but taking her child with the intent to turn him against his true parents was just heartless. How far would the wretched woman be willing to go to ensure that he hated the two people who gave him life?

"Our son will grow up hating us and there is nothing we can do about it. No way to fight this."

The feel of Antonin's hand brushing through her curls startled Hermione out of her increasingly depressing thoughts. She stared at him with wide eyes, unsure what he was trying to accomplish. He hadn't touched her since the night she went into labor. Usually, he tried to avoid all physical contact with her as possible. She felt like an animal caught in a trap. He wasn't relinquishing his hold. Before the last several weeks before the unexpected birth of their son, they were able to offer each other comfort. Something about the touch of his hand and the press of his lips against hers always calmed her down. She couldn't explain it. When she tried to justify it in her own mind, she grew disgusted with her own weakness. She should _not_ allow him such liberties. Especially not when she could hardly stand his presence.

Antonin was a man of few words. He only opened his mouth when he had something important to say. Action was more his style. Even if that action was simply brooding silence and long walks away from the witch he was tethered to for the foreseeable future. As it quickly became evident that he was going to try to calm her worries with a kiss that she would feel straight to her toes, whether she wanted it or not, Hermione stood up quickly from the bed. It was too hot in the room, too stifling. Without offering the tiniest hint of an explanation, she rushed out of their bedroom and out the front door.

Nothing about the late February weather was conducive to a pleasant walk outside. Hermione didn't care. She would've gladly walked barefoot in six feet of snow if it would give her a few minutes to herself. Worried at first that Antonin would follow her out of the cottage, she turned around to look at the still-closed front door she just slammed. Grateful that he didn't appear in any hurry to ruin her walk, she pressed on towards the grove of trees that led to the beach.

Her fear of being out in large spaces had not completely gone away. Each time she stepped outside of her cottage she felt her lungs tighten. Anxiety was never far when she was outside. She was afraid that she would never be able to enjoy wide open spaces again. Having someone walk with her usually helped to keep the worst of her feelings away, but nothing was absolute. Her research on the issue from the borrowed books she was allowed from the Ministry gave her little hope to being cured. It angered her that even outside of her prison cell, she felt like she'd never stepped out of it.

The waves crashed violently against the beach. A promise of another winter storm hung in the air. Likely, it would be another night spent huddled under the heavy blankets listening to the howling of the wind outside. She found it to be reminiscent of her time in Azkaban. At least, she had to concede, that in the cottage she had blankets and the additional body warmth of the wizard next to her to keep from shivering in misery all night long. Part of her always feared that she would never be warm again thanks to the terrible conditions of the wizarding prison.

She ignored the worst of her anxiety to creep closer to the rising water. Others on the island had already discovered how far out the wards went. During the summer when it was as warm as it was likely to ever get, many of her fellow inhabitants made use of the ocean. For some, they could _almost_ feel like they were free again. At least until they swam too far out and bumped against their prison's invisible walls. Even at the invitation of both Antonin and Charlie, Hermione never got close enough to the water to get even the soles of her shoes wet. Much like the open areas outside of her new home, the ocean frightened her in its immensity.

Staring out at the crashing waves, she thought about the big, wide world that functioned just beyond that water. There was an entire world of people that lived their daily lives without even knowing that her island existed. In the country that was once her home, she knew that there was a group of people at least _aware_ of what was happening. The prisoners received the newspapers and magazines to taunt them about the world they were missing out on. Or maybe it was supposed to be an incentive to dutifully procreate in order to gain their freedom. Whichever it was, it was torture.

Her son was out there somewhere, blissfully ignorant of her existence. Whether or not that continued as he grew older remained to be seen. Umbridge might poison her son's mind. Or, perhaps even worse, she might not tell him anything about the criminals who created him on the damned island. Henry Selwyn Umbridge might never even know who his true parents were. Maybe that would be the least cruel and punishing of futures for him. After all, it wasn't as if he asked to be born. He was an innocent victim in all of this, a pawn in a nasty game of revenge.

The freezing water was up to her ankles before Hermione even realized she'd been walking towards the ocean. In her right mind she might have turned around and headed back for the dry beach. Choppy waves were dangerous. Even forgetting the frigid temperature of the water, she could easily be pulled under if she went out too far. It had been years since she last had the opportunity to swim. Not since she was forced to jump off the back of the freed dragon from Gringotts had she been fully submerged in a large body of water. She used to enjoy swimming.

Water soaked the legs of the pajamas she still wore. In her haste to get out of the cottage before Antonin kissed her, she hadn't bothered to change into more suitable clothing. Her warm cloak was also left behind. Not that she cared. She was already feeling numb long before she stepped in the ocean. The rising waves splashed her upper body, soaking her to the top of her head. Still, with teeth chattering, she kept going.

What would it feel like to have the water pull her completely under? It was so strong that she didn't think she would have much of a chance if she got caught. Would she even fight it? There seemed very little reason to keep living in her current state. No hope of getting off the island. Not really. The requirements of the program were impossible. If her first birth was difficult, she couldn't expect the rest to be any easier. Maybe she would die trying to get to ten children. Women had been dying in childbirth since time began. Why would she be special?

Up to her waist, she kept going further and further into the water. Drowning was supposed to be the easiest way to die. Something about going to sleep. At least that's what she'd always heard. She wasn't sure if that was true. Once when she was small, she went to the deep end of the pool. She panicked, afraid that she would never get out of there when the water was over her head. After she gulped in water, her lungs burned and she had never been more afraid. Thankfully, a lifeguard saw her struggling and she was pulled out of the pool before it was too late. She supposed that once a person got past the initial panic of being unable to breathe, death by drowning might actually be quite nice.

It was harder to stay upright the further in she went. Choppy, violent water pushed her around. She still wasn't up to her full strength. Not that she was likely to ever be. After years of starvation, she then had to contend with the effects of a complicated pregnancy. Penelope said that her body would need time to heal from all of the trauma she'd put it through since the end of the war. It was kind of the Ministry to prolong her suffering by putting her in a position to get pregnant immediately. That was further proof that none of them were expected to actually survive the program.

What would it matter if she opted not to continue? Antonin would have to agree if they were sent back to Azkaban. She knew that he never would. He'd tie her to their bed frame before he would allow that to ever happen. To leave the program early, she really only had one choice. Maybe in the past she would've called herself weak for even considering such a drastic option. Selfish too. She didn't care. The person she was back then didn't know how bleak and dismal the world would become. She wasn't the same person she was when Harry was still alive. _That_ Hermione Granger died in the Great Hall right along with her best friend.

Waves crashed over her head, finally knocking her off of her feet. She scrambled to retain her footing, but it was no use. As soon as one wave crashed over her head, another followed. Hermione was simply too weak to fight against the current. The temperature of the water kept her body too numb to feel much of anything. Knowing that she was doomed, she closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable.

Rough hands grabbed her hair and the collar of her shirt. Rudely ripped from underneath the water, she gasped when her head broke the surface of the water. Unable to see who it was that was pulling her out of the water thanks to the salt water burning her eyes, she didn't have the energy to fight them. As soon as her savior was able to get a better grip on her body and she was out of danger of suffocating underneath the waves, she felt a much gentler touch. Strong arms carried her body against a firm chest.

She hadn't been underneath the water long enough to be in much danger of drowning. It all lasted no longer than just a few heartbeats. Whomever it was that captured her had to have only been steps behind her when she went into the water. He laid her on the sand so they could both catch their breaths.

"What the bloody hell were you doing out there, Hermione?"

Charlie was terrified. Even if he was doing a good job of attempting to suppress the worst of his fears, she could hear the panic in his voice. She opened her eyes to stare at the man who risked his life to save hers. His entire body was trembling, only partially from the cold. He ran his hands through his wet hair, frustrated and afraid.

"You could have _died_."

"You should've let me."

Somehow she was able to gather enough strength to stand to her feet. Every step she took back towards the damned village was an effort, but she managed. Charlie followed at a distance, clearly concerned that she would try something again if given the opportunity. When she made it to her front door, dripping wet and shivering, she turned to glare at the man who dared to save her from a watery grave. In that moment, she _hated_ him. How dare he go against her wishes?

"Go home, Charlie. Leave me alone."

Hannah gasped when she saw Hermione enter in her soaking wet pajamas. No doubt she looked frightening. Before Thorfinn could even utter an annoying remark, she stormed into her bedroom and slammed the door. Antonin, still seated on the edge of their bed where she left him, stared at her with wide eyes. He stood up, opened his mouth to say something, and she slammed the bathroom door before he had a chance.

She stripped out of her wet clothes and sat in the bathtub under the stream of too-hot water cursing her luck to be surrounded by meddlesome Weasleys. Minutes in, as she was still shivering and struggling to get warm, a hand pushed aside the shower curtain. Prepared to scream at Antonin to leave her alone, she stopped when she saw the vial he held in his hand. Nervous to take anything he gave her despite knowing he had no real way or reason to harm her, she initially refused. He wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Drink it or I will pour it down your throat."

Testing him was never a good idea. As soon as the potion settled in her belly, she could feel herself getting warm again. The prisoners weren't entirely isolated from the mainland. Whenever one of them wasn't feeling well or as a few of them discovered when they were injured in accidents, potions were easily obtainable if they used their Floo to request assistance. It wouldn't have taken a genius to figure out that based on the puddles of water she left behind as she entered her house what happened to her when she went outside.

"Weasley said you were trying to drown yourself."

Or, perhaps, Charlie didn't know how to keep his mouth shut. Groaning, she turned the water off. She pushed Antonin's hand away when he offered to help her stand to her feet. There wasn't a single thing she wanted from that horrible man. Even with the potion making its way through her bloodstream, warming her as it went, she still felt a bit weak from the experience. Just as she felt her feet begin to slip out from underneath her, Antonin was there to catch her before she fell. As soon as she was upright on her feet outside of the bathtub, she pushed his hands off of her.

"Was he telling the truth or was it an accident?"

The bite in his tone would've frightened her if she knew that he was able to hurt her. Though she never forgot for a single moment how dangerous he was, she didn't fear him in the slightest. Without her, he would be back in Azkaban.

"I'm sick of living on this island."

"So your alternative was to kill yourself?"

His voice might have been quiet, but she didn't mistake how angry he truly was. Based on the clenching and unclenching of his fists alone, she knew that he was itching to strangle the witch he was damned to complete the program with. When she didn't immediately answer his question, Antonin continued.

"If you die, _she_ wins. You're aware of that, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"The _only_ way we have a chance to get off of this island to find our son and make the bitch pay for what she's done to us is if we _stick together_. You might not like it any more than I do, but we need each other, Hermione."

She wanted to scream at him and argue that there must be another way. But, she couldn't. He was absolutely right. Unless something drastic changed, which didn't seem possible, their only hope for freedom and revenge was to complete the program. As much as she hated it, they had to work together. They were going to have to have more children.


End file.
